


We're Moving Forward, but Holding Ourselves Back

by darningdreams



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Emotional Rollercoaster, Friends to Lovers, M/M, More tags to be added, Overbearing Parents, Questioning Sexuality, Someone spiked the punch, Swearing, awkward friendships, boys falling in love, but which friends, depression and anxiety and all that jazz, elliott learns how to fish, elliott’s tragic past is haunting him, eventually fluff but mostly angst, insecure creative types, it ends with sambastian i promise, never trust sam with anything hair related, no farmer in this one, one helluva slow burn with lots of distractions, references to automobile accidents, sam is oblivious until he’s not, sam is the best big brother, sebastian doesn’t know what to do with feelings, someone gets punched eventually, what happened to sebastian’s father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25160488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darningdreams/pseuds/darningdreams
Summary: A storm of change is about to roll in over Pelican town, and the first hint of trouble is how the wind tangles Elliott’s hair the moment he steps on to the beach, determined to leave the past behind and make a new life, alone. Alas, running from old ghosts turns out to be just as difficult as writing a novel, and he doesn’t expect to find help in the valley.Always waiting for the next letter from his father, Sam’s heart is torn between needing to stay in town and be the best big brother possible and dreaming about moving to the city to follow the music in his head. As friendships begin to shift underneath his feet like wind-blown sand, he’s not sure there’s a way to reconcile all of his heart’s desires… but which does he give up?Moving forward with his life has always hinged on figuring out the past, and Sebastian would ride into the heart of the storm if it meant uncovering what happened to his father. It’s getting harder to figure out his own messy feelings and the shape of the future, and the sudden arrival of a new villager is sending ripples of change through the valley that are hard to ignore.(Or, a story of the search for truth, love, and a place to call home.)
Relationships: Abigail & Sam & Sebastian (Stardew Valley), Sam & Penny, Sam & Sebastian (Stardew Valley), Sam/Sebastian (Stardew Valley), Sebastian & Elliott
Comments: 28
Kudos: 62





	1. Spring 1 - Change in the air

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to Pelican Town a year before that farmer moves in! 
> 
> I've logged a lot of hours in the valley since the whole... *gestures vaguely* ...pandemic thing started in earnest, and it wasn't too long before my brain started going what if... what if... so here we are, exploring my version of Elliott's angsty backstory, figuring out what happened to Sebastian's father, and watching Sam try to not vibrate himself apart with nervous energy waiting for the next letter from the front lines. Plus a whole lot of examining sexuality and feelings and friendships, and--I promise--eventual Sam/Sebastian.
> 
> I have most of spring written (as of 7/8/20) and the rest of the year all planned and some chunks done, so it's just a matter of pushing out words. This is going to be a rollercoaster, y'all. Updates once or twice a week depending on how far ahead I am... No clue on end chapter count yet!

— Spring 1—

“You sure about this, kid?”

Elliott grunted, mesmerized by the water. The ocean stared back at him, its waves gently lapping the edge of the beach and retreating with a whisper. Salt and seaweed scented the fresh spring breeze, and there was blue and gray and every shade in between where the horizon met the water. Elliott uncrossed his arms and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, one of which held the old silver lighter. His fingers closed around it, thumb rubbing along the side out of habit. If Elliott had been superstitious, he would have rubbed the engraving on it away years ago, hoping for good luck. Or he would have tossed the old thing in a trash can to avoid bad luck. As it was, the lighter remained in his pocket and the initials were still visible—though faint and faded.

The old fisherman was peering at Elliott from beneath his battered brown cap like he’d landed some strange mutant carp and wasn’t sure if he should toss it back in the water or put it out of its misery. To be fair, Elliott was sure he looked just as out of place as he felt. He’d appeared at the door of the fish shop on the dock in green slacks and his deep red blazer, white button-down shirt and green tie underneath, sand already working its way into his brown leather shoes. Long golden-brown hair with tips dangling to the middle of his back immediately tangled in the sea breeze, like a bad omen of things to come. A letter with directions from the uncle of a friend of a friend completed the unlikely picture.

It was far too formal for the beach, but it wasn’t like Elliott had anything more appropriate to wear. He hadn’t set foot on a beach since he had spent summers at his grandmother’s property on the other coast of the Ferngill Republic as a child, over twenty years ago. Despite the impression the ocean had made back then, it wasn’t the sand or the crabs or the smell of rotting seaweed that had drawn Elliott to this place.

“It’ll do,” Elliott said, looking up the beach past Willy’s red shirt and the beard that looked like it hadn’t seen scissors in years.

The tiny cabin—more of a shack, if Elliott was honest, but _cabin_ sounded less dismal—wasn’t in good shape. It was probably full of spiders and sand and likely had enough holes in it that he could grate cheese on the sides, but it was as far away as he could get from everything and _everyone_ he knew without going all the way to the Fern Islands. Only time would tell if it was far enough away to finally shake the memories he had been trying to escape.

Willy shrugged and turned to unlock the cabin door. Why it was locked in the first place when it wouldn’t take much to force entry was beyond him, but Elliott knew he would be glad to have that lock, later. Locks kept people from accidentally opening both doors and hearts. He wasn’t here to make friends.

“You’ll want to talk to Robin,” the fisherman said, pushing the door open and ushering Elliott inside. “The carpenter. She’ll have anything you need for repairs.”

Elliott nodded, thanking Willy as he stepped across the threshold. Somehow, the cabin looked bigger on the inside than it had from the beach. The single room wasn’t palatial by any means, but there was more than enough space for a desk and a bed and room to pace. That was all he really needed. A simple room for a simple life.

Two windows on the back wall looked out at the trees screening the riverbank at the south of town from view, one branch of which cut south and joined the ocean just east of the cabin. The window in the front had a view of the ocean and horizon that would be a match for his grandmother’s posh waterfront property if he bothered to get it clean enough to see through. There was a small cast iron stove tucked in the corner for heat. It was also for cooking, presumably, though Elliott wasn’t sure he could bring himself to eat his own burnt disasters. Willy looked like he might know where to go for a hot meal.

Willy, however, had disappeared by the time he turned around again. A deep pang of loneliness settled in Elliott’s chest, despite his best efforts to remind himself he’d come all the way to Stardew Valley and the tiny speck of the map that was Pelican Town precisely so he _would_ be left alone. He needed to be able to focus, and hoped that would be easier here, where no one knew him. Writing was a solo sport. To his dismay, that sport was turning out to be a marathon and not a sprint.

He stepped back over to the open door and pocketed the key hanging in the lock. Elliott’s eyes were drawn back to the beach, and he leaned against the door frame to take in the sight once more. The ocean stretched out in either direction, creamy sand still patchy with snow and crystal water broken only by the docks down to the right of the beach where Willy’s shop was. To the left of the cabin, bits of coral and glittering shells dotted a flat of tide pools stretched along the coast. It would be a nice place to walk and think, but he was hesitant to trust his weight to the half-rotten pair of planks that crossed the shallow mouth of the stream flowing south from town and granted the only dry access to the flats.

There would be time to explore, later. Elliott stepped into the sand and pulled the door closed behind him, locking it again before stuffing his hands in his blazer pockets and walking reluctantly towards town, where he’d left the few boxes he had brought with him. He looked back at the shabby shack before he rounded the curve in the path to the bridge. It wasn’t much, but it was _his_ —something to fill with words and perhaps call home.

* * *

Sam’s eyes cracked open at the sound of his alarm. Groaning at the light streaming in the open curtains, he reached a hand over the headboard and fished around for the snooze button. Tired fingers found the radio button instead, and Sam swore under his breath as something far too chipper for this time of day blared to life.

“Off. _Off_ , damnit.”

Finally the noise stopped—everything was just _noise_ before he managed to have breakfast—and Sam let out a sigh of relief as he glanced over at the tangle of blankets on the floor. Sebastian was out so cold that not even Sam’s alarm had sparked any signs of life. There was a sock-covered foot sticking out one end and a mess of jet black hair half-buried at the other. For someone who insisted he didn’t get cold, Sebastian was remarkably adept at losing himself in a pile of blankets on chilly nights. It was the first of Spring, though, and unless they got a late cold snap, the nights were going to warm up until the summer heat made it hard to sleep for the opposite reason.

Sam pried himself out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, and nudged the pile of blankets with his foot, somewhere in the middle. There was no response. He tried a different spot, and heard a grunt as his foot made contact with something solid.

“Happy new year, yourself,” Sam muttered, stepping over the grumbling blankets and making his way to the bathroom in the hall to relieve himself.

Yoba forbid they stay out late, even on a holiday. Abigail’s phone had lit up two seconds past midnight and Pierre’s tired voice asking when she would be back had ruined their admittedly chilly bonfire in the forest. Then again, if his father was home, he would have done the same thing, despite he and Abby being reasonably responsible—or at least not entirely irresponsible—twenty-year-olds.

His mother tried a little harder not to hover, particularly on New Year’s Eve, though she still set Sam a curfew the rest of the year, insisting he set a good example for his brother. Sebastian’s mom had given up years ago. As long as Sebastian turned up in the kitchen for coffee at some point during the day as proof he was alive, Robin didn’t worry too much. On the other hand, Sam knew Demetrius still badgered his slightly older friend about _where_ and _when_ and _how late_ if he caught Sebastian headed out the door.

Sam groaned at his reflection in the mirror and combed a hand through his blonde hair. It was crunchy with gel and a haphazard mess from being slept on wet—Abby had pelted him with snowballs on the way back into town. Nothing short of a shower was going to fix this mess. There was a soft tap at the door.

“Happy new year, sunshine,” his mother called from outside the bathroom. Sam ran a hand over his hair again and opened the door; he needed to go grab clothes from his room, anyway. Jodi smiled at him and stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Have a good night?”

“Of course,” Sam mumbled, rubbing his cheek into his shoulder. “Anything from Dad?”

His mother sighed, her warm brown eyes turning sad. “No mail, today. You know I would tell you if there was a letter, Sam,” she said, one hand running down her braid.

“Right. I forgot,” Sam muttered, peering down the hallway to see if his brother was in sight. He raised one hand to rub the back of his neck, running his fingers over a tense spot. Maybe a shower would help that, too. “I just… it’s been a long time since the last one.”

All through high school, Sam had waited for the letter calling his father away to war again. It was inevitable; the war had only gotten worse since Vincent was born, and Kent had been sent all the way out to the front lines, this time. Now, waiting for the next letter and wondering if it would be the one saying his father was coming home, he wished he had that same confidence. Sam put on a smile for his mother, brother, and for the town that expected him to live up to his mother’s nickname—sunshine—but he could feel himself starting to fray at the seams. Each letter that did come was filled with military half-truths and hand waving, but it was better than nothing. He had never hated waiting so much in his life.

“There will be something soon, sweetie,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “Work, today?”

Sam nodded as he let out a breath. “Yeah,” he said as he walked back into the bedroom. His mother followed, peering around the door frame. Why Morris didn’t close the joint for one lousy day, he wasn’t sure. No one would be shopping with a hangover.

“Just be grateful you have a steady—oh! Happy New Year, Sebastian.”

There was a reply from the blanket pile in the form of a string of muffled curses. Sam laughed, knowing Sebastian wouldn’t set foot in JojaMart even _this_ hungover. Despite his dislike of alcohol, Sebastian had brought a flask of _something_ to the bonfire to help kill off the old year. He’d ended up going through most of it himself when Sam muttered he had work in the morning and Abby reminded him how long she had been grounded the last time she had come home tipsy. If Sebastian crashing on Sam’s floor at the end of the year hadn’t already been a tradition in itself, it would have been inevitable, this year—Sam was pretty sure the arm he’d looped around Sebastian’s waist was the only thing that kept him from drifting off into the bushes on the way home.

“Well I’ll let you get ready for work. By the way, Penny said she’s taking Vince on Tuesday instead of Monday, this year. Something about Monday not working any more.”

Sam paused, turning back to watch her retreat down the hall. Penny hadn’t mentioned anything to Sam about changing up her tutoring schedule when they talked on Winter Star.

“You okay alone with Vince all day?” he called after her, drumming his fingers on the doorknob.

“I was okay with you all day for years, Sammy. Don’t worry,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll call Caroline if I need help.”

Sam didn’t like worrying, but it came all too easily some days. Sometimes they were perfectly reasonable worries for a young adult, but since his father had deployed again three years ago, he had found different things to worry about. Vincent was a handful if he was having a rough day, and Sam worried he would come home to bruises on his mother’s arms if he lashed out in a meltdown again. Money was tight, and Sam worried they wouldn’t be able to get his little brother’s favorite cake for his birthday next week and still pay all the bills. He closed the door and turned, still pondering cake until he caught sight of his electric guitar in its stand by the bookshelf and his mind skipped to other worries.

That guitar had been waiting for him under the Winter Star tree when he was twelve, a few days before a snowy New Year’s eve where the trio had sat around the fireplace in Abby’s living room and made grand plans to escape the valley. The night had ended with the promise that no one would be left behind as the three of them huddled close against the darkness and uncertainty of growing up. Sam didn’t know if either of his best friends remembered that night, but he watched Sebastian picking up more and more freelance work and Abby applying to colleges in the city with a sinking heart. Sam was stuck in Pelican Town for the foreseeable future, worrying about being there for his mom and Vincent. Stuck with what-ifs and nightmares instead of his old dreams of music. He shivered as he stared at the guitar.

And then a pillow hit him in the side of the face.

“Sam. _Sam_.”

“Huh?”

Sebastian had worked himself free of the blankets and was standing surprisingly close, pale face with red-rimmed eyes blinking slightly down at Sam from behind the long, raven-black bangs that fell swooping across his face. He shifted from foot to foot, fidgeting with something in his black hoodie pocket.

“Zone out all you want, man, but can you do it somewhere other than right in front of the door when I need to piss?”

* * *

The river was brimming as it ran through town, threatening to boil up and over the bank south of Willow Lane. Sebastian took a step closer, pulling hard on the cigarette in his fingers and letting the smoke linger in his lungs before exhaling in a rush. It wasn’t the worst hangover he’d woken up with, but it wasn’t pleasant. Sebastian didn’t drink often—there was no point when his friends were still underage and half the town was watching the moment they stepped inside the saloon to play pool. Aside from _that_ , he simply didn’t care for the taste. Sometimes he indulged anyway, on long nights with bonfires and nothing to do but pass the time. A little alcohol kept him living in the moment; a moment where Sebastian could relax just a little, tucked between Sam and Abby, warm and safe in some space that wasn’t the future or the past.

That moment was gone, though. Time kept marching forward, regardless, and the remnants of another stagnant winter in Stardew Valley were melting quickly.

The bubbling water covered up the sound of his breath, but not the dripping all around. It was the heartbeat of spring; incessant drops of water rolled off the eaves of the houses behind him and the branches of the trees on the other bank, all headed to the river to be swept away into the cold, dark, ocean.

Sebastian took another step, lulled by the patter, the fluttering heartbeat. The water was sparkling in the sunlight, endless shades of aquamarine and turquoise. It was mostly snowmelt, running off the mountain as the spring sun warmed the rock again. He was almost close enough to lean down and stick a hand in, or perhaps splash his aching face with something ice-cold to wake up a little more. Would he even feel it, or was he too numb, already?

Noisy footsteps behind him were the only warning, but it was enough that Sebastian didn’t jump out of his skin as someone tugged at the back of his hoodie.

“Effing hell, Seb.”

Sebastian sighed and let Sam pull him away from the bank. Sometimes he wondered if his best friend made as much noise as he did for the sole purpose of not startling Sebastian at every turn, or if it was just because Sam couldn’t help the fact that he was a walking music box at best and a twitchy ball of nerves at worst. After Sam put a little more distance between them and the river, he tugged Sebastian around by the elbow.

“You okay?”

One of Sam’s hands combed through the golden hair at the back of his neck. The rest had been spiked up as usual, giving the blonde the edge on height even though Sebastian was slightly taller when he wasn’t slouching. Sam was watching him with eyes the same crystal blue as the bubbling river, too full of _something_ for Sebastian to look at them for more than a breath.

“I’m fine,” he said as he glanced at the ground, instead. It was the question he hated the most, and it always sparked a tight, fiery feeling in Sebastian’s chest that he didn’t know what to call. At the other end of his body, the cold was starting to creep into his feet. His shoes were already soaked from walking through the patchy snow still covering the grass.

“Dude, I have enough to worry about without—”

“Then don’t worry about me,” Sebastian muttered around the cigarette tucked between his lips, both hands shoved into his pocket. He started walking. “Come on, you’ll be late.”

Sebastian heard Sam grumbling as he caught up. It was harsh—maybe too harsh—but the last thing Sebastian wanted was people worrying. Worrying over him, worrying at him, worrying him to death. His mother did enough of that. Demetrius didn’t worry; he was only ever concerned or disappointed.

 _Disappointed you’re not more like Maru_ , the voice in the back of his head added.

“I just hate spring,” Sebastian said, more to give himself a different target for the smoldering feeling—disgust? loathing? resentment?—than to remind Sam that this season was the epitome of everything he hated. Sam knew. “Another year of the same bullshit,” he went on, grasping at words like they didn’t have this conversation every year. “Nothing ever changes, Sam. Spring after spring and I’m never any closer to getting out of here.”

Sebastian sighed, and Sam echoed it with one of his own.

“Closer than I am,” Sam said. Sebastian saw him stuff his hands into the pockets of his old denim jacket. “Do you know if Abby has heard back from anywhere yet?”

“It’ll be a while,” Sebastian replied, trying to remember how long it took for his acceptance letter to come. “Late spring, probably.”

Sam was too far ahead to see the scowl on Sebastian’s face as his stomach twisted at the memories of his own miserable attempt at college. It wasn’t until Sebastian started making enough from his self-taught freelance programming work to pay rent that Demetrius finally turned a blind eye to the fact that he didn’t have a degree and his mother stopped badgering him about spending so much time at his computer.

Sebastian couldn’t help that he felt more comfortable behind a computer than with people. People were so exhausting, and they made Sebastian anxious. He didn’t know what to do about the expectations he didn’t live up to, the looks he couldn’t decipher, and the whispers his brain said were about him. People asked annoying questions or demanded explanations and those required words. Inevitably, Sebastian’s throat would choke up and his brain would tangle as he searched for the best words and came up blank, time and time again. Most of the time, he gave up and just spit out one of the phrases he knew he could rely on instead of waiting for better words.

_I’m fine. It’s nothing. Don’t worry._

“Wanna chill, tomorrow?” Sam asked as they neared the little grocery shop Abby’s father somehow kept open despite JojaMart coming to town. He grinned at Sebastian. “I guess I’ve got Tuesdays kinda free, now.”

Sam was one of two people that didn’t immediately make Sebastian anxious—the other being Abby, who did manage to get on his nerves sometimes, but knew when to leave him alone. Sam was a toothy-grinned golden lighthouse Sebastian could steer his dark ship towards through storm and fog, and Abby was a guiding star shining through dark nights as the clouds broke. Together, somehow, they kept him afloat.

Sebastian knew he was an anchor. He didn’t do anything but drag them down.

“Abby’s coming over to do something about this,” Sebastian said, running his hands up the back of his head. Sam snorted. Pierre had kept Abby so busy at the shop in the two weeks leading up to Winter Star that Sebastian had finally given up and handed Sam his clippers a week ago to touch up the back of his neck. By the funny look she had given him at the feast, he should have just waited. She had promised to fix it tomorrow, and it was high time they touched up his roots, too. “But whatever. Come if you want.”

Sam wrinkled his nose in feigned disgust. “And listen to a bunch of girl talk? I’m good.”

“You just don’t want Abby with clippers in the same room as your hair,” Sebastian said, smirking as Sam’s hands rose to protectively pat his precious spikes at the mere suggestion of clippers.

“Sweet Yoba, no!” Sam danced away as Sebastian reached a hand out towards his hair. “Dude, touch the hair and I will shave yours off next time you pass out on my floor.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but stuck his hands back into his pocket anyway. “Fuck off, I did not _pass out_ , I just—huh?”

“You just stopped moving, I know, I know.”

Sam saw it a second later—a stack of three medium-size boxes with a smaller one on top sitting next to Pierre’s in the one stretch of sun-warmed cobblestone that was something approaching dry.

“What are those?” Sam asked.

“Boxes,” Sebastian quipped, earning him an elbow to the ribs. “I dunno. Shipment for Abby’s dad?”

“Nah, they look like moving boxes. We had a million of those stacked up in the house when we moved in.”

The pair stopped next to them for a moment. On the topmost large box, there was a word half-covered by the smaller one. A name? Sebastian gently slid the smaller box to one side, uncovering some more neatly looping cursive script. Elliott M—he couldn’t slide the box over far enough to make out the last name without tipping it off the edge.

“Who the hell... is Elliott?” Sebastian wondered aloud, rubbing a finger over the name. He looked over at Sam, whose frown turned thoughtful for a moment before his face split into that mind-numbingly cheerful grin that Sebastian both loved and hated.

“Looks like you can’t say _nothing’s_ changed, this year,” Sam said, nudging him with an elbow.

“That doesn’t mean things are going to get better,” Sebastian muttered.

Sam looked at him, bright blue eyes scrunched slightly. “Maybe not. But it doesn’t mean things are going to get worse, either.”

“Whatever. You’re going to be late.”

“Whatever?” Sam repeated, his frown returning as he raised an eyebrow. The other eyebrow joined it when he pulled his phone out to check the time. “Son of a _milkshake_ , Morris is going to kill me.”

Sebastian’s stomach churned as Sam ran for the bridge. He scowled at the pile of boxes as he fumbled for another cigarette, wishing they would disappear. He didn’t want to deal with a new face around town. All Sebastian wanted was a smoke, a cup of coffee, and to disappear into the basement again for a shower hot enough that he might feel something other than numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Quite a day for all the boys. Will Elliott succeed in not making friends? Will a letter come for Sam? Will Sebastian warm up to the prospect of change? 
> 
> The answer to at least one of these questions is Probably Not. In fact, that might be the answer to all three...
> 
> Much love to ahundredindecisions for betaing and to those that have listened to me ramble at length about my favorite SDV boys.


	2. Spring 2 - Doesn't take much to make big news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elliott begins to meet people and Sebastian doesn't know what to do with hugs or hair, but he tries.

— Spring 2 —

  
  


“So how was your first night in the old… er, shack?”

The Mayor’s bushy gray mustache hid what Elliott was sure was a speculative frown. Matching eyebrows sat just below the brim of an old fashioned brown cap and wriggled up slightly in the center.

“...as comfortable as I had imagined,” Elliott said, lifting an eyebrow of his own. Though he couldn’t fathom why the fisherman had bothered, Elliott was glad Willy had re-appeared with something that vaguely resembled a bed frame before night had fallen. The questionable excuse for a mattress wasn’t any softer than the floor, but it did have a distinct advantage in that it kept him away from the claws of the little crab that had scuttled through the door and under the stove when he was bringing in boxes yesterday. Elliott had tried—whilst desperately wishing he had a broom—to evict his new houseguest, but only ended up nursing several sore fingers for his efforts. At least it was a roommate that wouldn’t comment on his housekeeping.

Lewis had flagged him down outside the little produce shop and looped his thumbs in his brown suspenders as he started to ramble on about his time spent on the beach as a boy. Elliott was afraid he was going to insist on giving him a grand tour of Pelican Town instead of letting him go into the shop and quiet his grumbling stomach. 

“Well you’ve surely got things to do, lad. I just thought I would point out this calendar before you head on in to shop—it’s got all the local festivals, if you’re up for attending. Ah, Elliott, when is your birthday?” 

“Er...”

“Come now, that’s nothing to hide. All the town birthdays are on there,” Lewis said with a chuckle, wiggly eyebrows dancing around above unremarkable brown eyes, wrinkled at the corners. “You may even get a gift or two.”

“Fall 5,” Elliott mumbled, looking down at the ground. He was not _‘up for attending festivals’_ , and no one had given him a birthday present in years—why should anyone start, now? “But I don’t want—“

Lewis had already flipped the calendar up to Fall and was making a note. “Oh, that all depends on whether you get to know anyone. Some of the townsfolk are wary of strangers. You'll have to win their trust before they open up to you. You seem like the persistent type, though. I’m sure you’ve always had lots of friends.” He stuck the pen back into the pocket of his green button down and Elliott caught him glancing out into the square before adjusting his collar nervously. “Why, I’ve been mayor for over twenty years and there are a few... friends… that I’m still getting to know better.” Lewis cleared his throat and waved to get the attention of a woman walking across the square to the shop. “Marnie!”

She turned, rosy cheeks and plump face smiling when she saw Lewis, and attempted to pat down some flyaway brown hair that had worked its way out of her loose braid. 

“Ah, Lewis.” Marnie hiked her long green skirt up slightly and Elliott caught sight of muddy boots underneath. Lewis reached over to pluck a piece of hay off of her sleeve when she approached them. “You’re the new one, then?” 

She gave Elliott a measured look, head tilted up and hands on her hips. 

“Don’t strike me as much of a farmer,” Marnie said after a moment. Lewis coughed and leaned over to whisper in her ear. Marnie’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. Sorry, wrong abandoned building. Lewis was telling me last night that someone new had arrived, and I assumed... Elliott, was it?”

Elliott glanced back at Lewis, but he was still considering Marnie carefully, frowning as he pulled a small feather out of her hair.

“That is correct.” Elliott nodded, thumb running over the lighter in his pocket again. 

“Well, I’m Marnie. I sell livestock and animal products at my ranch just outside of town, before you get to the Cindersap forest. I suspect you’re not interested in any of that, but swing by sometime if you’d like.” She paused and batted Lewis’ hand away as it reached for her hair again, her cheeks reddening. “What is it you do?”

“Ah...” He hesitated, not sure what such a practical-looking matron of the town would make of trivial pursuits like his. “I’m a… writer,” Elliott admitted. It was better not to dress up the truth, sometimes.

Marnie just smiled at him. “Well, Leah will be glad she’s not the only cultured one out here anymore. But I have to run, it’s almost time for class with the girls.”

Lewis watched her retreat and walk into the shop, shaking his head slightly. Elliott’s thumb ran over the lighter in his pocket as he watched Lewis watching Marnie and he was certain he did _not_ want any further explanation regarding what the Mayor had meant about getting to know his friends better. 

“Pierre’s is a good place to run into people, and the produce is... top notch,” Lewis said cheerily as he walked towards the door, himself. The cheer disappeared and his mustache drooped as he continued. “Much better than JojaMart. That place… well, you should at least introduce yourself to Pierre.”

“Of course,” Elliott muttered. He was surprised JojaMart had made it all the way out here to the middle of nowhere. Maybe it was a bit cheaper once you’d sold half your soul for a membership card, but he’d been in a JojaMart store once or twice and there was something vaguely sinister about the unbridled commercialism that made Elliott’s skin crawl. Lewis waved him through the open door, and set a hand on Elliott’s shoulder just before he passed through.

“Oh, I almost forgot. If you’re in need of something, feel free to post a flyer like this one on the help wanted board.”

Elliott had missed the small flyer next to the calendar, and leaned over for a closer look.

_I need seaweed, if it’s not too inconvenient. — Sebastian (60g on delivery)_

“Those kids ask for the weirdest things, sometimes. Anyway, let me know if you need help settling in.” 

With another cheerful smile, Lewis walked off towards one of the other small buildings that comprised the quaint little town. Elliott was beginning to wonder if it was a little _too_ quaint as he stepped inside the shop, catching a glimpse of Marnie’s hair as she turned the corner around a shelf and a door in the back wall opened. Produce bins lined the wall to his left, while a few rows of shelves with pantry basics and non-perishables took up the space on the right. At the back, behind the counter, was Pierre himself.

Chestnut brown hair flopped forward to brush the tops of his glasses as Pierre leaned his elbows on the tall counter and studied a piece of paper in front of him. _Boring_ was the word that sprang to Elliott’s mind at the plain brown jacket, blue shirt and gloomy look on his face; he was the most mundane-looking person Elliott had ever laid eyes on. Pierre set the paper down as he glanced up at the open door.

“Ah, welcome!” He straightened up, one hand going to his back with a wince. “Elliott, right? I’m Pierre, owner of the local—well, you probably figured that out.” Pierre extended a hand as Elliott approached the back counter. Not all of the worry had left his face, but he put on a casual retail smile as Elliott shook his hand.

“I did,” Elliott said. “Pleasure to see a local store still standing.”

Pierre’s face soured again. “But for how much longer? Every time I lose a—“ he paused, looking Elliott over carefully. “Never mind. I suppose it’s too much to hope you’re here to straighten out that old farm and inject some new agriculture into the local economy?”

Elliott coughed. “I’ve been told I don’t look much like a farmer.” He looked over at the bins along the walls, looking a bit empty at the start of spring. A few potatoes, corn well past its prime, and a bit of wilted looking cabbage were all that was left after the winter. Racks of spring seeds in vibrant little packages stood next to the counter. “I’m afraid I have two black thumbs and shouldn’t be trusted with a houseplant, let alone a farm.”

“Well. Someone will come along eventually,” Pierre sighed, face falling into a frown. Behind Elliott, the bell on the door chimed again as it opened and Elliott turned to look. “I do hope you’ll stop by on occasion—mind I’m closed on Wednesdays, though.”

“Morning, Pierre,” said a fiery redhead with hair pulled practically back in a high ponytail. Sawdust covered boots and a dusty pair of khaki overalls led up to a sharp chin and no-nonsense brown eyes that looked Elliott over briefly.

“Robin, good to see you.” Pierre said with his pleasant retail smile back in place. “This is Elliott.”

“I know, Lewis dropped me a note,” started Robin, stopping near the counter with a hand on her hip. “Come up to my shop if you need help fixing up that, uh…shack? Cabin? Whatever you’re calling it, it’s seen better days. Just head north out of town, up the mountain. Can’t miss it.”

Elliott grimaced. If there was something he was looking forward to less than meeting an entire town of people, even a small town, it was trying to figure out how to get from one end of the valley to the other without getting hopelessly lost. Marnie had mentioned some forest, and now there was a mountain, too? He turned to glance at Pierre. “Do you... perhaps... have a map of the valley, somewhere?”

“Ah. Let me see—“ Pierre mumbled and ducked behind the counter to dig through some papers.

He heard Robin chuckle. When Pierre came back up out of the mess, she pulled out a thick pencil, clearly sharpened with a blade, and circled a building labeled ‘Carpenter’ north of town.

“It’s a nice walk up to the shop, and if you keep going you’ll reach the mountain lake,” said Robin. She looked up as the door chimed but went on talking briskly. “Anyway, If you need help carrying anything back I’ll chase Sebastian out of the basement—“ 

The woman who stepped into Pierre’s this time was quite the contrast to the chipper carpenter leaning on the counter. Mousy brown hair was pulled loosely back in a braid that flopped forwards over her shoulder, and tired brown eyes set in a heart-shaped face observed him as she walked closer, but with nowhere near the same scrutiny that Robin’s had.

“And I can send Sam up, if he’s not working.” 

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Elliott insisted.

Robin let out a frustrated breath and rolled her eyes. “Working or not, Sebby needs fresh air on occasion. At least Sam gets outside.”

The new woman giggled. “Maybe he will, now that it’s spring. I think all he did over the winter was work and shut himself in his room to practice.” A sad look crept across her face for a moment, but she perked back up when she looked over at Elliott. “Oh! You’re... Well. You aren’t exactly how I imagined… but that’s okay. I’m Jodi. It’s a quiet little town, so it’s very exciting when someone new moves in. Having a…” Jodi paused, looking over at Robin and then back. “What is it you do, anyway?”

Elliott suppressed a scowl. All he wanted to do was find something for breakfast and retreat to his dismal abode full of sand, not stand around and make idle chit-chat. Apparently his name could travel all around town in less than a day but he was going to have to answer the ‘what do you do’ question over and over again himself. All three faces looked at him expectantly. 

“I’m a writer,” he said, unable to hide the scowl any longer. Behind him, the door opened yet again with a clang and a bang as it reached the full extent of its hinges, saving himself from having to explain any further.

“Late, late, late—oh!” 

Elliott wasn’t sure what to look at first as another woman dashed through the door, but settled on the bright blue shock of hair. When she stopped abruptly on her way to the back of the store he found a startled pair of dark brown eyes fixed on his face. Her mouth was still open in a little ‘o’ of surprise, and she blinked at him a second longer before her smile widened.

“I—when Gus said—well!” She smoothed down a neatly tailored red dress with one hand, the other still clinging to the strap of the bag she carried over one shoulder. “I can read it on your face—you’re going to love it here in Pelican Town. If you’re ever looking for something to do in the evening, stop by the saloon. That’s where I work,” she babbled on, taking a few steps closer. “Well, I also run our ladies’ exercise class in the back room here, and if you’ll excuse me—Robin, Jodi, sorry I’m late again!”

Without another breath the blue hair had turned and was walking quickly to the door at the back of the shop. He saw Robin and Jodi exchange a glance; Robin looked annoyed, Jodi amused. They waved at Pierre and Elliott and walked off to follow her.

“That,” Pierre said, eyebrows raised in the middle and a bemused smirk on his lips, “was Emily.”

Elliott felt his stomach start to twist and stuck his hands in his pockets. He should have known he would have to deal with the glances and the interested looks from all the unattached women in town; it was the same thing everywhere else he’d lived. He nodded at Pierre and walked off to look at one of the shelves, absentmindedly combing his hair forward over one shoulder. His mind wandered as he peered at the label on a jar of pickles. There had been a number of times in the past where Elliott had broken hearts without trying. This time, he wasn’t planning on letting anyone close enough for that to happen—or at least, he didn’t plan on getting close enough that he would care if it happened again.

“Refrigerate after opening,” he muttered to himself. The jar went back on the shelf.

After some more browsing with an eye to the fact that he had neither a fridge nor microwave—or electricity at all, as far as he could tell—Elliott found himself back at the counter, handing over what felt like an unreasonable amount of money. It took a concerted effort to remind himself that this wasn’t the city and that things were bound to be more expensive in the middle of nowhere. It was only after Pierre bagged things for him that Elliott realized he had three bags—reusable, he said, but the handles looked precariously flimsy—and only two hands. He was in the middle of trying to figure out how to carry all three when the door at the back of the shop opened again.

Out came another head of distinctively colored hair. This time it was loose, shoulder-length, and deep purple, and it surrounded the pale face of a young woman who aimed a disgruntled scowl back through the door at the peppy aerobics workout music. She shut the door hard behind her, and Elliott’s precariously bagged apples picked the same moment to spill out on the counter again, obeying gravity as apples are known to do. One of them hit the floor of the shop with a dull thud and rolled to land by her black and white sneakers.

“Abigail, I told you that dress—“

“It’s not any shorter than my others,” she grumbled, smoothing the knee-length skirt of the sleeveless black dress down as she bent to pick up the apple. A long denim vest was layered over top, leaving her arms bare, and she scowled at the apple in her hand as she stood back up. “It’s not like I’m wearing—oh.” Abigail’s eyes went wide as she looked from Elliott to the apple and back. “Uh, I take it this is yours?”

Pierre was eyeing the young woman with a raised eyebrow. “Where are you going?”

Abigail scowled again as she walked towards the counter and set the apple down, and Elliott wasn’t sure she was going to answer Pierre. He wasn’t certain why she should have to, either, until she spoke again. 

“Out, Dad, like normal people do on their days off.” She headed quickly towards the door with a roll of her eyes, one finger twirling a lock of purple hair.

“ _Abigail_. Come back here and—“ It was too late; the door was already swinging shut. “—introduce yourself.” Pierre huffed. “Why is it so hard to raise a respectful young woman, these days?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Elliott said flatly, trying once more to grab all three bags so he could retreat to his cabin before he was unfortunate enough to run into any more new faces.

  
  


* * *

The sun was high in the sky by the time Sebastian managed to peel himself out of bed and head out to the mountain lake for his first smoke of the day. Even in the shade, he had to squint at the sunlight dancing across the water. Despite the heavy flow of the river downstream, the lake was as calm as ever; the only concession to the snowmelt was how the water inched a little farther than normal into the reeds around the edge where the frogs liked to hide.

Sebastian soaked up the silence hungrily as he inhaled that first cigarette, completing the little ritual by flicking ash off the tip as he leaned back against the rough bark of the pine tree. They had held this vigil together for years, the tree sheltering him from rain or snow or sun as the smoke curled up into the needles. It was something that quieted the incessant whirring of his brain, if only for a handful of moments, and he clung to it more tightly than he liked to admit.

Footsteps broke his reverie, echoing up the path towards the lake. Somewhere in the distance, a fish jumped. All the little sounds that he had tuned out a moment ago came flooding back into his brain with a vengeance. Sebastian peered around the trunk of the tree at the familiar figure approaching and took another drag, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs.

Abby appeared next to him as Sebastian exhaled into the branches above, and in one smooth motion, she scooped a pinecone off the ground and hurled it at the lake. It came close to hitting the bank on the other side. Sebastian took one look down at her crossed arms and scowl and offered her the cigarette. Abby took it without a word, indulging in one solid drag before handing it back.

“Thanks.”

“Mmhm,” Sebastian hummed. “What’d he do, today?”

“The usual. Just…” Abby let out an exasperated sigh and Sebastian waited for her to continue. “Damnit, Sebby, treating me like a child around people I grew up with is one thing, but in front of a fucking stranger? Can he just, for once in my life, shut up and let me make my own first impressions instead of pulling his _Abigail_ voice and letting everyone know what an immature, irresponsible, shitty excuse for a _young woman_ I am?”

Her voice had climbed about an octave as she ranted, ending with a half-choked squeak. 

“Woah there, little bee,” Sebastian said, startled. Abby had tucked her chin to her chest, long purple hair falling across her face. He finished the cigarette and dropped the butt to the ground, grinding out the ember with his toe before reaching out a hand to Abby. “Hey.”

She turned and practically flung herself at Sebastian, flattening him against the tree and thoroughly knocking the breath out of him as she buried her face in his chest with a choked sigh. Sebastian frowned, closing his arms gingerly around her shoulders. He wasn’t quite sure what to do; Abby usually turned to Sam for comfort like this.

“Hey,” he repeated, feeling stupid for not being able to think of anything else. Sebastian caught a whiff of lavender and vanilla as his nose dipped towards her hair, and his mind wandered slightly as Abby’s pale arms snaked around his waist, between his back and the tree trunk. Did her hair always smell this nice?

Abby mumbled an apology into his chest, but didn’t pull away. Sebastian wondered what for as he hugged her a little closer, breathing deeply and closing his eyes as she relaxed into him, warm and soft and curving against his cold, sharp angles. He let his chin rest against the crown of her head as his brain kicked into overdrive.

It wasn’t like Abby had never hugged him, before. Sebastian had been there to hug her when her first guinea pig died, and when she graduated high school, and when she took out her first slime in the secret woods and threw up in the bushes afterwards. Why did this feel different? Was it something to do with how her hands had clung so tightly for a moment that Sebastian felt her nails digging through the thick material of his hoodie?

“Are you sniffing my hair?” Abby asked, letting go of his waist and pulling away. 

“Uh.”

“Weirdo,” she giggled, dabbing at the corner of one eye with a finger.

“Just thought it smelled different,” he muttered as he bent down to pick up the crushed butt and tuck it into the empty Joja Cola can he kept hidden in the roots of the old pine.

“I haven’t changed shampoo for three years, Seb.”

Sebastian winced as he stood back up, frantically searching for a change of topic. He shook his head, dislodging long bangs from where he’d swept them behind one ear. A curtain, or perhaps a shield, they gave Sebastian something to hide behind. Hair—that’s why Abby was here.

“We should get back to the house,” he said, starting to walk towards the path down the mountain. Abby swore under her breath and elbowed him in the ribs when she caught up, muttering something about being vertically challenged.

“So, should I?” Abby asked as they neared his house, head tilted up to catch his eye as they walked. She raised an eyebrow at him, blue-green eyes looking amused by something. Sebastian couldn’t fathom what it was. “Change shampoo, I mean.”

“It’s fine.” Sebastian realized how stupid that had sounded the moment it left his lips. “I mean, no, I just—never mind. What’s up with this stranger?”

Abby frowned and bit her lip. “He was in the shop getting groceries when I left. I knew someone would move onto that old farm eventually, but...”

“...but?” Sebastian prompted as he pulled the front door to the house open.

“He really didn’t look anything like a farmer,” she concluded, following Sebastian into the warm, wood-paneled front room of the house that served as his mother’s carpentry shop office. 

Tuesdays were possibly the day Sebastian hated least; Robin spent her day off in town, Maru was at the clinic, and now that it was spring, Demetrius spent most of the week outside collecting samples of _whatever-the-fuck_ he was studying instead of lurking in his laboratory. No one was waiting to intercept Sebastian on his way out the door on Tuesday, and the house was silent until dinnertime rolled around. His shoulders relaxed slightly, but Abby was just getting wound up.

“He looked like some pretentious city slicker. Like, stick a briefcase in his hand instead of a bag of apples and I’d swear he was a lawyer or something. Who else would wear a fucking blazer into a grocery store? Ugh, and his _hair_.”

Sebastian snorted a laugh as he took the stairs down to the basement two at a time. “What’s he doing in this shithole, then?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to ask,” Abby said as Sebastian flicked the light on in his room. “Yoba’s ass, Sebby, I was so fucking pissed I didn’t even catch his name. It’s probably something insufferable like, I dunno, Marcus.” She drew the ah-sound out, emphasizing each syllable dramatically.

 _Or Elliott,_ Sebastian thought to himself, picturing the stack of boxes he and Sam had seen outside Pierre’s yesterday afternoon as he dragged a chair into the bathroom and backed it up against the sink counter. Unless there was more than one new person in town. Sebastian liked _that_ prospect even less.

He straddled the chair, pulling his hoodie off and tossing it into the bedroom before scowling at the mirror. Aside from the side-swept shield of hair he let grow long in the front, which was well-trained after years of using it as a defense to hide behind, Sebastian preferred to keep the rest of his hair short enough that he didn’t have to bother with it for more than five minutes in the morning. He wasn’t sure how Sam had the patience to re-spike his every single day.

“What, are you cold?” Abby said, tugging at his t-shirt. “This shirt doesn’t need dyed, it’s already black.”

“I don’t get cold.” Sebastian muttered, a reluctant feeling nagging at the back of his mind. He peeled the shirt off and sighed at his reflection, dark eyes taking in every imperfection with disgust. Pale skin stretched across ribs he could almost count and down scrawny arms. One was briefly interrupted by ink; the outline of a snake, a line of binary running down its spine, coiled around his arm twice before jaws and tail met on the inside of his right bicep. Some said the ouroboros symbolized rebirth. To Sebastian, it was a reminder of the endless march of time. Somehow, the sun still rose, even though he couldn’t see it from the basement. Somehow, everything kept moving forward.

 _Except you,_ the cynical voice in his head reminded him.

“I just hope my parents don’t get any stupid ideas about marrying me off to some old dude.” Abby whined, her voice dragging Sebastian out of his head and back into the here-and-now. 

“Wait, just how old are we talking, here?” Sebastian asked, sitting straight again. “Like, Lewis old?” His jaw clenched at the thought.

“Ew—no—gross, Sebby.” She looked disgusted as she set a black-speckled towel over Sebastian’s shoulders. “Seriously, I think I just vomited in my mouth a little. Old like, I dunno, Harvey?”

“Abs, Harvey isn’t _old_ , he’s like thirty-five or something.”

“That’s old enough to be weird.”

“Look, if your parents try to marry you off to _anyone_ they’ll have to go through me, first,” Sebastian said softly. 

Abby blinked at him, brow furrowed. “Pretty sure I don’t need _your_ approval either,” she said, one hand on her hip. The other, still holding the clippers, poked him in the middle of the back. “Plus, Dad claims to have a wicked right hook and I know yours is shit, and I am _not_ bailing you out of a fist fight with him.”

“I—wait—you don’t, I just meant, like…” Sebastian stammered, blood draining from his face as he tried to backpedal. “Shit. Just… I’ve got your back, you know. It’s not their fucking decision to make. You can... you can marry whoever...” 

As predictable as the rising of the sun, Sebastian choked on the ridiculous tangle of words stuck somewhere between his brain and mouth. He watched the mirror as an uncomfortable blush crossed his cheeks and felt his stomach twist. 

“ _You_ try and tell them that,” she muttered angrily, apparently unaware of Sebastian’s increasing discomfort. “All they want is to see me move out and start a family with someone, like a good little housewife, and I just…” Abby went quiet for a moment, examining the clippers with far more attention than they deserved. “Seb, I can’t even imagine dealing with… with any of that.” 

“Any of what?“ He could see Abby frowning in the mirror, disgust creasing her forehead as she chewed on her lip. “Bee?”

“Any of… of… whatever it is a _wife_ is supposed to be. Or do. What if I don’t... never mind. Look, I have enough on my hands keeping my _friends_ out of trouble.”

“Out of trouble? You’re the one that gets us in trouble, most of the—” Sebastian snapped his mouth shut as she held the clippers up and shot him a threatening look before tipping his head forward and combing a hand through the hair at the back of his neck.

“Oh for Yoba’s sake, Sebastian, I’m sorry I couldn’t come up before Winter Star, but stop trying to trim the back without me.” Her arms were crossed and lips pulled into a pout when Sebastian glanced up at the mirror.

“I, uh. I had Sam—“

“Oh gods! No wonder it looks like—like—” she laughed instead of continuing, one hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

“Hey, I’ve never asked him to help dye it again—“

“Thank the Gem Sea for that,” Abby muttered between amused chuckles, tipping his head forward and running her hands through his hair again. Her fingers were warm as they traced lines over his scalp.

There were photos, somewhere, of Sebastian with his natural hair color, tucked away by his mother when he threatened to burn them all. It was an awkward red-orange that leaned more brown than his mother’s true ginger, and Sebastian had taken so much flak for it freshman year of high school that he shoved a tube of black hair dye at Sam the night before sophomore year started, desperate to change _something_. How hard could it be, he thought, to smoosh some dye around?

“When are you going to learn not to trust Sam with anything hair related?” She asked, still trying not to laugh.

“You can fix it, right?” Sebastian whined, chin tucked down to his chest to avoid meeting Abby’s eyes in the mirror. Just as he started to relax into the touch, her hands pulled away.

“Sebby. I’ve been doing this for years,” she said as she turned the clippers on. “Don’t worry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's very first hair dyeing encounter has its own little one-shot if you're wondering exactly how badly that night went...
> 
> <https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135649>
> 
> I'll be able to update 2x a week for another few weeks at least--huzzah! Expect wednesday/saturday unless I am forgetful.


	3. Spring 3 - The sounds of our sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliott makes his way to the carpenter's shop and fears for his bank account. Sam should really watch where he's going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're not imagining things-- there's been a bit of a name change! Sorry, I am indecisive as heck.

—Spring 3—

“So you’ve got some leaks?” 

Robin launched into something about the difference between shakes and shingles as Elliott nodded along. He wasn’t entirely sure it made a lick of difference to him; he just wanted to be able to sleep through the night without the panic-inducing sound of water dripping onto wood. As it was, every time he had just about fallen asleep the dripping would start again, somewhere new. Once, that somewhere was disturbingly close to his head. 

“—no, it sounds like the roof needs an overhaul, and if what you said about the windowsills is true—“

Between the lack of rest, his already-stale bread, and nearly getting a finger taken off by a snapping claw as he reached for the apple that had fallen off the stove overnight, Elliott was a bit low on patience. He left the apple as a peace offering for his roommate and slipped into fresh—yet somehow damp—clothes and his long tailed blazer before leaving the shack. _Cabin_. The persistent fog burnt off on his way to the carpenter’s shop; it was well after noon before he managed to find it and the sun was high in the sky.

“—probably a good time to do it, before it starts raining. Done by a professional I’d say it’ll take about three days, but if you want to DIY—“

Elliott held up a hand to cut off an unwanted lesson in construction techniques, knowing full well he was dangerous with a hammer for all the wrong reasons. “The only question I have,” he said, trying not to let his impatience with the entire day so far creep into his voice, “is how much will it cost.” 

Robin looked him over, one eyebrow raised inquisitively, and tucked her pencil behind her ear.

“You didn’t strike me as the DIY type. Well... for a typical house renovation, I’d start at ten, but...” Robin frowned, glancing up towards the ceiling and clearly running some sort of calculations in her head.

“Ten. Ten... _thousand_?”

“Yeah, but this certainly isn’t typical—hang on.”

Elliott felt the blood draining from his face as Robin bent down and rummaged behind the counter for a thick catalogue. Drifting from city to city the past few years had drained what remained of the inheritance from his grandmother at an astonishing rate. He had enough left to live a simple life here for a year—maybe two, but _that_ depended on whether or not he managed to write a single word worth selling. If he had to spend a fortune on fixing up his accommodations, he would either slowly starve in a ramshackle cabin on the beach with only a crab for a friend or have to return home.

The latter was not an option worth considering.

“It’s not even half the size of that old wreck of a farmhouse, so I’m sure we can work that down. D’you need a full kitchen?”

“N-no? Not really,” Elliott stammered. Having a full kitchen wouldn’t do anything for his inability to prepare food without burning it. In fact, it might just get him into more trouble if he ever tried.

“Not sure how I’d fit one in there, anyway. That’s about half the work, so now we’re looking at five—“

“Robin?” A deep, smooth voice interrupted her, and they both looked over towards the hallway that opened out from the shop counter area. A moment later a tall, dark-skinned man walked in, frowning slightly. He scratched at a spot in the short dark curls above his ear. “Is Sebastian back yet?”

“He left a few hours ago. You know how long it takes to get to Zuzu and back,” Robin said, waving the man over. “Dear, this is Elliott—you know, from the beach.”

“Ah, greetings!” He flashed a smile that revealed bright white teeth, quite a contrast to his warm chocolate skin tone, and held out his hand. Head still spinning from the prospect of his bleeding bank account, Elliott drew a smile out of somewhere and shook hands with him. “I’m Demetrius, local scientist and father.”

Demetrius stepped back a pace, looking over at the door. He fidgeted with the buttons of his blue polo shirt and then looked down at the silver watch on his wrist. “I’m studying the local plants and animals from my home laboratory. And there’s a lot to do, now that it’s spring. I have already run out of some essential supplies.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Robin said. “You’re paying him, right Dem?”

“I’ll credit next month’s rent.”

Elliott saw a frown tugging at Robin’s lips. “I thought that didn’t go over well, last time.”

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Demetrius said, his own brow creasing. “It’s far more efficient than handing him money he’ll just hand back later.”

“Dem,” Robin said, a warning tone in her voice. “It’s not the same.”

“Well, have him run those vials back to me as soon as he gets in, and we’ll talk about it then. Oh, Elliott, have you met our daughter, Maru?” Demetrius asked, glancing at his watch once more before looking over at where Elliott was standing.

“I don’t think so,” Elliott replied, trying to go over the names and faces he’d collected so far and coming up with a blank.

“It’s too bad she’s not helping me in the lab, today; she’s looking forward to meeting you. It’s not often we get a new face around here.”

“I can tell,” Elliott muttered—though not as softly as he had thought, judging by Robin’s snicker from behind the counter. Elliott’s ears perked up at an eerily familiar sound in the distance, but it faded after a moment.

“Well, Robin built this house from the ground up,” Demetrius told Elliott. “I’m sure she can do something with that old shack. It shouldn’t cost too much,” he added, raising an eyebrow at Robin. She threw a stray wood chip at him, and Demetrius chuckled and went back into the lab. Robin went back to flipping through the catalog in front of her and pulled the pencil from behind her ear to scribble some notes.

“...it’s about ten by fifteen feet, I bet. Hmm. Really, I don’t envy you. Meeting everyone in town sounds exhausting.” Robin looked up at him and pursed her lips for a moment. “It was hard enough when I moved here and had to chase little Sebby around while trying to introduce myself—and there were fewer people to meet, oh, Yoba, twenty years ago already.”

The sound was back, and louder, this time—the low rumble of a motor and the distinct sound of shifting through gears. A motorcycle. 

_No._

“Well, if the windows don’t need replacing I think we can get down to three thousand. Ah—“ she paused, lifting her head and tucking stray bits of red hair back behind her ears. “Here comes Sebastian. Do you have opinions on moulding, Elliott?”

“...mold? I’d rather not have any.” 

Robin gave him an odd look, her head tilted in confusion. A second later she had a hand over her mouth and was turning pink as she tried to snort down laughter. Elliott wouldn’t have heard her even if she had been laughing out loud; his ears were focused on the sound of crunching gravel and the engine idling outside. It had been a long time since he’d heard a motorcycle this close. Memories hummed through Elliott’s veins as loudly as the sound waves hitting his eardrums, unbidden and unwanted.

“Not mold—moulding,” Robin said as the engine cut out and she regained some semblance of composure. She pointed up at where the wall met the ceiling as Elliott tried to breathe again. “Oh, you know— _that_. Trim.”

It wasn’t often Elliott was tripped up by language, and he flushed uncomfortably. Hopefully Robin would assume it was the play on words that had Elliott’s head spinning, not the fact that his chest was still tight with slowly ebbing panic. He frowned, eyes turning reflexively to catch the movement of the front door as it opened. “Oh. In that case, I don’t really… care...” 

As flushed as he had just felt, Elliott blanched again at the tall figure that opened the door, helmet still on. A well-worn black leather motorcycle jacket with silver trim pushed its way in, slanted zip pulled all the way up to the neck. Dark, slim fit pants were tucked into calf-high black boots, one of which kicked the door open further to make enough room for the awkwardly shaped bags in either hand.

Elliott squinted at the diamond quilting on the upper arms of the jacket and the buckles on the shoulders and either side of the body. It felt familiar, but there must have been hundreds—perhaps thousands—of jackets made that looked just like that. Still, it sent a chill down Elliott’s spine. He should have stayed home, damnable dripping roof or not.

“Demetrius said to bring him—“

“I know, I know,” came the muffled voice from inside the helmet. Sebastian, presumably, set the bags down by the door and reached up to take the helmet off. He hung it from a hook on the wall and ruffled pale hands through jet black hair before turning around.

“Where have you been, Sebby?” Where Demetrius had sounded annoyed, Robin’s voice seemed to be one of concern.

“Lost track of time, okay?” Sebastian growled, pulling the zipper down to open up the jacket but not taking it off. He reached back down for the bags, flicking his head once to clear the long side-swept bangs from his pale face. Elliott wasn’t sure Sebastian had even registered his presence before he turned and stalked off towards the lab. 

There were raised voices from down the hallway after a moment; one low and even and the other a high baritone that had surprised Elliott. Neither carried quite well enough for Elliott to make out words, but he was pretty sure he understood the gist of the argument. He heard Robin sigh as heavy footsteps echoed back down the hallway.

“Sebastian, this is—where are you going?“

“Out,” was all Sebastian said as he flew through the front room, zipping his jacket back up.

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“Not if I’m going to get bitched out again by someone who doesn’t give a shit about respecting my time.” His hands fished in his pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Elliott’s fingers closed around the lighter in his own blazer pocket.

“Sebby, if you would just talk to your father instead of—“

“My fucking _father_ isn’t here to talk to,” Sebastian yelled. A cigarette appeared between his lips. 

“Don’t you dare light that in my house,” Robin warned. “In front of _customers_.”

Sebastian pulled up short at that, the hand with the lighter in it pausing halfway to its destination. He swiveled on the spot, paling even more than seemed possible as he noticed Elliott.

“I’ll be at Sam’s.” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. He turned again—the cigarette was lit before he was halfway out the door. It slammed hard behind him.

Elliott set a hand on the counter to steady himself, trying to remember how to breathe. There had been a hurt, wild look in Sebastian’s dark eyes, half-hidden behind the curtain of black bangs as he turned—a flash of despair quickly overridden by cold, blank, anger. It tugged on old memories of the last time Elliott had a door slammed in his face.

_And the motorcycle…_

“Well. That was my son...” Robin paused, rubbing one temple with a hand when Elliott looked back over at her. She had leaned back against the counter, lips pressed together in a grim line. “He’s... a little shy.”

Shy wasn’t the word Elliott would have chosen—or at least not the only word.

“I’m sure he’ll warm up to you if you’re nice to him,” she continued. “He could use more friends—Elliott?” 

The sound of his name and Robin’s red hair stepping into his field of view finally broke the memory spiral. Elliott shivered despite the warm spring day and looked over at her. He pulled his hands out of his pockets to stretch them and crack his knuckles, finally realizing the cramp in one hand was because he’d been clutching the lighter in a death grip. 

“You’re about as pale as a ghost,” she said, eyebrows drawn down in concern. “Can I get you a drink or something?”

Elliott shook his head. “No, I’m... fine.” 

Robin stared at him a moment longer, then shrugged and went back to look at her notes. “Where were we at, then... You’re going to need a desk, I bet. And a better bed, by the looks of it.”

“Just make it livable and give me a total later,” Elliott groaned.

* * *

Sam hummed to himself as he left JojaMart, hands itching for his guitar. Something about this spring had sparked a cascade of ideas, of sketchy lyrics, of half-cooked melodies like the one bouncing around his head now. Maybe it was the light filtering through the budding trees, like tiny rays of hope breaking through clouds after a storm.

_After the storm_ , he mused, rolling the thought around. This was the problem Sam had with ideas and thoughts and lyrics and lines—they came along so swiftly, and unless he had a way to capture them in the moment, they were gone before he realized he wanted to remember them. He went back to humming, fingering chords in the pocket of his denim jacket to keep himself from going full-out air guitar as he approached Pierre’s, even though he didn’t expect much activity in the center of town.

He certainly didn’t expect to run into someone coming into town from the path up the mountain, literally or not.

“Shit. Sorry,” Sam said, rubbing the side of his chin. “Really, man, I didn’t mean—I was just kinda in the zone. Sorry.”

It was a man he didn’t recognize—taller than Sam, with a long copper waterfall of hair and a maroon jacket that was possibly best described as dapper—and he was looking at Sam with narrowed green eyes and an irritated frown on his sharp jaw. 

“Are you okay?” the stranger asked.

“Huh?” Sam blinked at him and stuffed his hands back in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, dude—don’t worry. I take worse knocks than that falling off my board all the time.”

The man huffed and regarded Sam warily for another moment before walking past him, heading for the south end of town. Sam cocked his head to one side. Pelican Town didn’t get new residents very often, so it was fairly easy to put two and two together, even for Sam. The face he didn’t recognize must go with the name he and Sebastian had seen on those boxes.

“Hey—Elliott, right?” Sam bit his lip as he watched the red-jacketed shoulders fall with a resigned sounding sigh as Elliott paused. “Uh. Are _you_ okay?”

“I’ve run into harder heads,” he said after a few moments of silence, turning around to eye Sam again and rubbing his shoulder. A flicker of a smile crossed Elliott’s lips, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, uh, good, I guess? Anyway, I’m Sam,” he said, grinning at Elliott. “Mom said she ran into you yesterday. A writer, huh? Man, I can’t imagine actually _writing_ anything,” Sam went on. “I mean, besides music. Like, lyrics are hard enough, you know? I bet you’d rock at lyrics, being a writer and all.”

Sam belatedly realized that Elliott was probably in no mood to chat, given the sour expression that had been on his face a few moments ago. To his surprise, the smile returned to the other man’s lips, widening a bit. It was a little like one of those tiny rays of hope had just broken through whatever dark cloud had been fouling his day when the two had collided. 

“Ah, now, that’s an unfair comparison,” Elliott said, an amused chuckle in his voice. “The writing of words to be read and words to be heard are very different skills.”

“Huh,” Sam grunted. “I guess so. But, hey, lyrics are kind of like poetry,” he pointed out, scratching the back of his head with one hand. 

“I never said I was a poet.” Elliott’s face softened into something melancholy and tired. “I beg your pardon, Sam, but I should be going. I am afraid I didn’t sleep particularly well, last night.”

“Oh. Oh! Fudge, me too,” Sam muttered, shifting his weight as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. _How_ was it nearly six and _when_ did he get three new text messages? He shoved the phone back in his pocket. “I should go, I mean. Dinner and stuff. Good to meet you, though,” Sam added, positive he sounded ridiculous as he rambled on. He should have stopped three sentences ago. 

Fortunately, Elliott didn’t seem to mind—the tall writer just gave Sam a bit of a nod and turned south again, hands clasped behind his back as his long legs carried him out of sight quickly. Sam stuffed his hands back in his pockets again and started off towards home again. He wondered why Elliott was headed south and not west towards the abandoned old farm, but it didn’t take long before the question was replaced by that persistent melody and Sam found himself walking as fast as he could through the square and down Willow Lane.

###

“Sam? I need your help with—“

“Can it wait a minute?” he asked, slipping off his shoes by the door once he was inside and setting them next to a pair of black boots. His mother appeared in the kitchen door, a towel in her hands, saying something else— _why was she asking about Sebastian?_ —but Sam was already halfway down the hall to his bedroom. “I really need to write something down,” he called on his way.

Sam shut the door behind him, eyes sliding over something black draped over his dresser and landing on his acoustic guitar in its stand at the foot of his bed. It was in his hands in the blink of an eye, shoulder strap ignored as he sank down on the edge of the bed—and onto something hard.

“Yoba’s panties on a flagpole,” Sam swore, guitar falling unceremoniously from his lap as he leapt back up off the bed, which swore back in an equally colorful fashion. He grabbed at the guitar, catching the strap and pulling it up before it hit the ground—barely—and let out the breath that had caught in his throat when the instrument went flying. A hand closed on his arm and Sam shook it off, grabbing the retreating wrist as he whirled around. The boots by the door, the jacket, the unread messages all clicked into place as he came face to face with—

“ _Sebastian_?” he hissed, heart racing. “Would it kill you to warn a guy before appearing out of nowhere like a damned shadow person? Are you _trying_ to scare the slime out of me or what? You know I don’t have the cash for a new guitar if… if…”

Sam saw Sebastian swallow hard, his eyes wide and a touch fearful as black hair fell down across them, and realized he was still gripping his friend’s pale, thin wrist. He let go—Sebastian wasted no time in collapsing in on himself like a black hole, pulling his legs up to his chest and tucking his hands inside his hoodie sleeves as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Would it kill you to check your phone?” Sebastian said, an unusual waver to his voice as he dipped his nose between his knees.

Sam was still breathing heavily as he put the thankfully unscathed guitar back in its stand. He looked back at the despondent black lump in the middle of his bed, shoulders rocking slightly, and _fuck_ —Sebastian was _here_. His friend had two reactions to confrontation—turn inwards and become a cold, impenetrable ball of misery, or flash hot with anger and run. The latter was usually reserved for fights with his step-father, and Sebastian’s feet usually found their way to Sam’s house. The reasonable conclusion was that something pretty awful had gone down at his house, which could only mean that those three text messages Sam had ignored were, in fact, Sebastian warning him.

And now Sam had just flipped out on him, too. 

Guilt weighed heavily on Sam’s shoulders as he sat down on the foot of the bed, scooting back and pulling one knee up in an approximation of Sebastian’s drawn-in posture. Every bit of him wanted to pull Sebastian over into a hug, but he knew it wouldn’t go over well—not yet, at least. Sebastian had never been the touchy type, especially if it was unexpected.

“Seb,” he said softly, moving a little closer; just close enough that their shoulders brushed. “Sorry man. I didn’t mean to flip, I just…”

“I think you’re allowed to flip if I almost break your first fucking guitar,” Sebastian mumbled after a brief pause, pressing his shoulder lightly into Sam’s. That was reassuring.

“But you didn’t, so stop moping. Hey, it would have been my fault for not bothering with the strap. And for not checking my phone.”

“And for zoning out so hardcore you sit on me?” Sebastian said, forehead lifting off his knees slightly.

Sam chuckled. “You should be used to that, by now.”

“What, being sat on?” Sebastian asked, glancing over at him. One charcoal-colored eye blinked out from behind his bangs. Sam laughed, pulling his arm out from between them so he could drape it over Sebastian’s shoulders.

“ _That_ is all your fault, and I’ll do it again if you keep sneaking into my bed.”

It was enough to get a chuckle out of his best friend, which was all Sam needed to hear to know he would be okay, for the moment. As much as he wanted to ask Sebastian what had happened _this_ time, he knew better than to poke that wound when it was too fresh. He’d hear about it later, if Sebastian wanted to talk.

“I didn’t exactly sneak. Your mom let me in and everything.”

“Whatever,” Sam said, grinning as he pulled away again. “I take it you’re staying for dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elliott has run into both our boys, now--literally in Sam's case--but not exactly under the best of circumstances... will this shadow their further interactions, or will Sebastian be able to make a better impression later?
> 
> Coming saturday, more Elliott meeting people and Sam and Seb chat about the band.


	4. Spring 6 - Girls / Squirrels / Frogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliott attempts to spend a quiet Saturday in the park, and nothing goes to plan. Sebastian and Sam chat about the band. Why are some nights so hard to forget?

— Spring 6 —

A shrill giggle pierced the spring air and Elliott nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the book he had been staring at. He’d walked all the way through town to the park, trying to find somewhere quiet after two straight days of Robin hammering away on his shack, finally settling on a bench near the fountain. Apparently there was no escape from noise, today.

Thundering footsteps pelted by him, nearly plowing straight over Elliott’s feet on the way to the playground behind him and sending the book scuttling to one side. He suppressed a growl, leaning over to reach for the abused thing and nearly colliding heads with someone else reaching for it at the same time.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry.”

A small hand reached the book before his did, scooping it up and dusting off the cover. It belonged to a rather petite young woman in a modest skirt and cheerful yellow blouse buttoned all the way to the collar, but the cheer didn’t quite extend to her bright green eyes, framed by rust-red auburn hair pulled back in a loose bun and freckled cheeks. She opened the book up to smooth out a crinkled page, and Elliott saw her eyes light up.

“Wait, this is… I didn’t know there was an _annotated_ version! Did Gunther just get this in, or—oh.” She had finally torn her eyes away from the book, looking over at Elliott with green eyes a few shades brighter than his own. “Sorry, I thought… this was from the library. I hope it’s not hurt,” she said, holding the book back out from an arm’s length away, like she was afraid to get too close.

“It’s perfectly fine, I’m sure,” Elliott said, taking his book back and setting it on the bench beside him. “I’m afraid I haven’t met…”

“I’m Penny.” She looked away, embarrassed, clutching the books she had been carrying to her chest. “I’m sorry about the children, they’re always so excited to get to the playground.”

Elliott looked over at the playground, watching the two kids. One was a little boy, strawberry-blonde hair with extra strawberry that stuck out every which way, wearing a red and yellow striped shirt and shorts. There were band-aids visible on his knees, and he was creeping up behind the girl that sat on the swing set with something cupped between his hands. The girl was singing to herself, one hand adjusting the green bow sitting on top of her dark blue-black hair, currently done up in pigtails. 

He looked back at Penny, who hadn’t noticed the looming situation yet, and pursed his lips in thought. Elliott was terrible at guessing ages, but she didn’t look much more than twenty. Certainly not old enough to have two children of her own.

“And who are these—” He didn’t get a chance to finish before another shriek rang across the playground.

“Miss Penny,” the girl wailed, purple dress a blur as she ran over to bury her face in Penny’s side. “Vincent just tried to put a _frog_ down my dress!”

Penny hugged the girl’s shoulders and turned towards the playground. There was a distinctive flop of hair sticking out from behind one of the poles of the swing set, where Vincent seemed to think he could hide.

“Vincent! Come over here this instant,” Penny scolded, her voice taking on a stern tone. “You need to apologize to Jas.”

He came sulking over, slowly, blue eyes wide and glittering a little. “I just wanted to sh-show her,” Vincent said, lower lip trembling a little. “It had spots. I t-t-tripped, and it hopped on her.”

“I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, Vincent.”

Elliott tried to suppress a snort of laughter.

“Frogs are _gross_ ,” Jas continued, scowling at him from where she was half hidden behind Penny.

“ _Girls_ are gross,” Vince muttered, sticking his tongue out. Jas’s eyes went wide. 

“Young man, I am telling your mother all about this,” Penny snapped. “And you need to apologize to Jas this instant.”

“Even Sebastian likes frogs,” Vincent whined. He crossed his arms with a huff and finally noticed there was an audience for their little argument. He stared over at Elliott with obnoxiously large blue eyes, and Elliott leaned back, uncomfortable. He didn’t have much experience with children. “You like frogs, right?”

“Vincent! Manners, please,” Penny rolled her eyes, but her mouth betrayed the twitch of a grin. “This is Mister… uh… oh I’m so sorry, I never asked your name.” She turned back to him, face flushed bright crimson under her scattering of freckles. Elliott attempted a smile.

“Elliott.” He shifted again, glancing at Penny. “Actually, I don’t like frogs.” Or girls, he added under his breath. At least, he thought it had been under his breath.

“Or what?” Jas asked, innocently enough.

“Or, uh,” Elliott blinked, looking over at a tree as he saw movement darting up the trunk. “Squirrels. I simply cannot abide squirrels.” He nodded emphatically. 

The little boy looked unconvinced, and Elliott hoped his mind was still on frogs. He looked a little too young to be worrying about liking girls or not.

“Vincent, it’s okay if not everyone likes frogs,” Penny said, stepping over to ruffle his hair. She either hadn’t heard Elliott or had chosen to ignore his little slip, and he let out the breath he was holding. “There are things you don’t like that other people do, right?” 

“Like veg-e-tables?” Vincent asked, making a face. 

Penny stifled a giggle at that, trying to look serious. “That’s not quite what I had in mind. Now, you still need to apologize to Jas.”

Vincent sighed, mumbling an apology to a sour-looking Jas that Penny made him repeat at an audible level. Jas rolled her eyes.

“Race you to the slide!” she yelled, already running for the jungle gym. Vincent giggled and tore after her. 

“No running!” Penny chirped after them. Elliott doubted they heard her. She sighed and looked down at the ground. “They’re good kids, really. We don’t have a school here, but I’m doing my best to give Vincent and Jas a proper education. Jas is very good at math and reading. Vincent is good at… well, he has an active imagination.” 

Penny pulled the books she was holding away from her chest and Elliott caught a glimpse of the titles. The large, thin book was ‘ _Teacher’s Guidebook: 2nd Grade’_ , and on top of it was a smaller paperback, ‘ _Marcie And The Underground Castle’_.

“I know I’m not a real teacher; there’s no way I could ever afford the certification. But every child deserves a chance to be successful. I just want them to learn and enjoy themselves as much as they can. I know what it’s like to have a… a difficult childhood.”

“You are teaching them,” Elliott said, standing up and adjusting his blazer before looking at Penny. He had to look farther down than he expected. Penny was easily a full foot shorter than he was, and her head barely came up to his shoulder. “Therefore, you are—irrefutably—a teacher, and you are providing a valuable service to your community.”

“Oh. I’m really not—I mean, that’s awfully kind of you to say, but I—” Penny’s cheeks were turning red again as she stammered. Her green eyes travelled up, and up some more, finally meeting Elliott’s, and a sad little smile touched her lips. “Th-thank you.”

“You said there is a library here?” Elliott asked. Maybe he could find a few hours of peace and quiet there, pick up some food from the saloon for dinner, and go home to a finished cabin in the evening. He pulled out his map, now covered in a number of circles and notes.

“Over here—” Penny pointed at a building towards one corner of the map. “We are very lucky to have a library in such a small town. When you’re lost in a book, it’s easy to forget the realities of your life. Maybe that’s why I like reading so much.” Penny clutched the books to her chest again. “Sorry. I got carried away there.” 

“Maybe that’s why I like writing,” Elliott countered. At least there was one person here who knew the value of a good book. He hoped Penny would be able to pass that on to Jas and Vincent.

“You’re… a writer?” Penny asked, eyes lighting up. “That must be so… so… interesting!”

Elliott chuckled at her word choice. “Usually I hear ‘fun’ or ‘easy’ at the end of that phrase. Interesting is closer to the truth. Lately, it has been nothing but frustrating. I thought perhaps coming somewhere quiet would help me focus on my literary aspirations.” 

Squeals of laughter erupted from the direction of the playground as he spoke, and Penny’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh dear, you were here enjoying a quiet Saturday and I’ve just ruined it! Sir, I’m so—”

“Just Elliott, please.” He fought down a scowl. While Elliott had meant coming to the valley in general, Penny had read a little further into his statement. She wasn’t wrong. He smiled gently at her and tucked the map back into his pocket alongside the lighter. “Don’t worry yourself on my behalf; I would prefer a library to a playground any day of the week, and you have my heartfelt thanks for enlightening me as to its existence.”

###

Elliott thanked Penny again before taking his leave of the chaotic playground, and decided on walking through the park as far as possible before heading south through town. He didn’t get very far before he caught sight of an old building which had clearly been out of use for years. There were vines growing up the front, and bits of leafy green poking out of the roof as well. The clock above the door wasn’t moving, hands stuck reading 12:24.

He was looking at it curiously, wondering what its use had been, when he saw a flicker of movement in one of the windows. Elliott rubbed a hand over his face and looked again—nothing. It was probably just the wind blowing around a tattered curtain or some spring leaves, as the glass in the windows was broken in several places. A quiet groan escaped his lips as he turned towards town, hoping this was the night he would get a proper amount of sleep.

“Oh! You must be the new guy!”

The voice made Elliott jump, and he swung back around to find its source. There was a young woman sitting on a bench next to the dilapidated building, in the shade of a tree.

“Er, sorry,” she said, pushing dark-rimmed glasses up a little further on her nose. Ruddy-brown hair just brushed her shoulders as she leaned forward and stood at the top of the steps. Once in the sunlight, Elliott could tell she was of mixed descent, and his mind flipped back a few days to his conversation with Demetrius at Robin’s shop. His breath hitched slightly, recalling how the scientist had described his daughter as being _rather interested_ in meeting the new face in town.

“I’m Maru,” she said, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her overalls like she didn’t know what else to do with them. Elliott could see a small wrench sticking out of one of the front bib pockets, and caught a glimpse of a greasy rag tucked in her back pocket. 

“Elliott, right? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. It’s a good thing I decided to take a break from my latest project and come sit for a while,” Maru continued, peering over her glasses at Elliott from her vantage point. As she stepped down to the grass it was Elliott looking down again, though not quite as far as he had to look at Penny. “You know, with a small town like this, a new face can really alter the community dynamic.”

“Indeed. I am Elliott. Lovely to meet you, Maru.” There was an awkward pause. Elliott briefly contemplated leaving, but his tongue got the better of him. “What sort of project are you working on?”

Maru launched into telling him about her newest robot project for her father’s lab as Elliott fiddled with the lighter in his pocket, smiling and nodding along. To his surprise, Maru didn’t show any of the flustered awkwardness of his other encounters so far. It was refreshing, and his thoughts drifted as he listened to her chatter. Of all the women he had encountered so far, only Emily came anywhere near his age. Perhaps he could find some way of heading her interest off at the pass, so to speak, _without_ coming out to the entire town. As for the men in town, well… he was here to write, not to find a replacement for the hole in his heart.

“With a carpenter for a mother and scientist for a father, it makes perfect sense that you’re into building gadgets,” he said as she came to the end of another tangent. While he was charmed by her enthusiasm, he was beginning to regret starting a conversation. Maru laughed, but the sound faded as she stiffened and frowned, looking somewhere past Elliott’s shoulder. He turned his head to follow her gaze.

“Every cigarette reduces your life expectancy by eleven minutes,” she yelled towards a figure walking up the path towards the carpenter’s shop.

Sebastian cut sharp lines against the bright green foliage, dressed head to toe in black and sporting his leather jacket despite the warm spring sun. A sullen look crossed his face as he flicked the hair out of the way and lifted his cigarette to his lips. There was a second figure beside him, dressed in tattered denim jeans and jacket with a red shirt underneath. Elliott recognized the distinctive hairdo; it had reminded him of an alarmed pufferfish the afternoon Sam had run into him in town, and the resemblance hadn’t faded. Sam paused, sneezing into the crook of his elbow several times.

“Great,” Sebastian shot back, exhaling a large cloud of smoke. “Eleven fewer minutes I have to spend with you.” 

Elliott heard Maru suck in a breath, and tried to steady his own breathing by running his thumb up and down the lighter in his pocket. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but he bit the inside of his cheek, instead.

“Hey! You know that means me too,” Sam jogged to catch back up to Sebastian, who hadn’t slackened his ground-eating pace. “And Abby,” he added, jabbing at Sebastian’s side with an elbow as he got close enough.

Elliott watched the two boys go, catching Sebastian’s eyes for a long second as he glanced over one shoulder before disappearing into the woods. The whole point of coming to Pelican Town was to leave the ghosts behind. Judging by the way the rumble of a motorcycle had already invaded his fitful dreams, it seemed they were intent on following Elliott, even here. There was a shaky sigh from Maru as she turned back around, and Elliott saw her reach a thumb under her glasses to wipe at one eye. 

“Sebastian is… my half-brother, if you didn’t know already. I guess the half part is pretty obvious, though. He hardly ever talks to me. I _want_ to have a brother, but I wonder if he even likes me at all.” She looked back up, a pensive frown on her face. “I just get so... so... _frustrated_ when I’m working my tail off and all he does is sit in the basement and smoke and go out on that motorcycle and I won’t _have_ a brother if something happens—”

_Speaking of ghosts…_

“Maru.” Elliott said, putting a hand on her shoulder and trying to swallow down a sick feeling at the direction her rant had gone.

“Oh, Yoba. Sorry, that’s probably way more than you wanted to know. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Elliott said. His eyes were having trouble focusing. “It’s nothing.” His whole body felt sluggish and heavy, and the bright sunlight had started to dim around him. He could steady himself against the fence if he just put a hand out.

“Look, I know a lie when I see one and that was a _terrible_ … uh oh.” 

There was a thud as his book hit the ground for the second time that afternoon, and something slid under his arms, guiding Elliott to the ground a little less rapidly than the book. He blinked, lightheaded and cold as the sun came back and he saw Maru in front of him, holding his wrist with a finger on his pulse point. She felt his forehead briefly and then sat back on her heels with a frown.

“Elliott, have you eaten recently?”

“Erm.” He blinked and focused on her face. “Apple for breakfast?”

Maru rolled her eyes. “What is it about older men that makes them think they can go the whole day without eating? It’s almost _four_. Here—” She fished a granola bar out of her pocket and handed it to Elliott after tearing the end open. He didn’t have much energy to argue with Maru, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.

“Maru, you really needn’t—”

“Look, you need something to get your blood sugar back to normal levels. I do this to Harvey all the time. That man needs someone in his life to remind him to eat. Yoba’s rear, I swear he thinks he can run on coffee alone. A doctor should know better.” She put a hand out, sitting in the grass next to Elliott and kicking her legs out. “Eat it. Nurse’s orders. Oh. Right. I work at the clinic part time. Not sure I mentioned that.”

Elliott took a bite, scowling as the near-flavorless bar threatened to stick his teeth together. Footsteps echoed up the path from the direction of town. Maru turned to look and then waved at the figure in the distance.

“Hey kids!” Robin was headed towards them, a tool belt slung over her shoulder. Bits of red hair were floating around her face, not quite long enough to be held back in her high ponytail. Elliott took another bite of the granola bar, this time with the hope the time it took to chew would cool his annoyance over being called an _older man_ and then a _kid_ within the span of two minutes. He hadn’t been called _kid_ since... 

“You’re all set, Elliott. I think it’s a pretty damn charming cabin, now,” Robin said, a contented smile on her face. She brushed some sawdust off her pants and turned off the path, startling some birds as her work boots kicked through the grass.

“Hey Mom! Oh, that reminds me,” Maru said, looking back at Elliott. “Do you have electricity in that—er—cabin?” She looked at him, curious brown eyes slightly obscured by her glasses. 

“No,” Elliott said, frowning. Robin had looked into running power lines to the beach, but it was prohibitively expensive. Elliott was not about to ask the mayor whether it would be of interest for the town to foot any of the cost when there were only two buildings on the beach. “I shall grow accustomed to living by lamp light soon enough.”

“Oh! I’ll swing by sometime with a battery pack or two and hook you up a lightbulb at the very least.” Maru paused, suddenly considering something. “Uh. Unless you want to use lamps. I guess that’s cool in some hopeless romantic way, but it’s kind of a fire hazard.”

“That’s a fantastic idea, genius,” Robin said, smiling down at Maru as she stopped next to her daughter and messed with her hair in a gesture of affection.

“Mom, I’m not—”

“I know, I know, but someone has to show your smarts off.” Robin looked over at Elliott and raised an eyebrow. “You okay, kid? Looks like you got hit by a bus.”

“He pulled a Harvey,” Maru chirped. Robin chuckled.

What little color had returned to Elliott’s cheeks ran swiftly away again. He struggled to his feet, despite Maru’s objections and Robin’s concerned look.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, clutching what was left of the granola bar in one hand and reaching into his other pocket for the lighter that was always with him, like the ghosts of old memories. “I just… need to go.”

Maru called something after him—probably about eating properly or laying down, but it could have been about magical creatures in the deserted building for all he knew. All Elliott could hear on his way through town was his own heartbeat and shallow breathing. It felt like forever before he reached the soothing sound of the ocean waves and shut himself in his newly-renovated and blissfully quiet shack, locking the door behind him. There was a muffled scuttling under the bed as he collapsed onto it.

“I do hope you are comfortable,” Elliott told the crab. “For I _refuse_ to set foot outside for at least a fortnight.”

  
  


* * *

“I think we need a drummer.”

Sebastian raised his head at the quiet statement, looking at the still surface of the lake before stealing a glance over at Sam. His friend was sitting just outside of the circle of shade cast by the old pine, legs kicked out in front of him and hands planted just behind his waist in a way that opened up his jacket and stretched his chest wide. It was almost like he was trying to soak up all the crisp spring sunlight that Sebastian was attempting to avoid. His chin was tipped up, blue eyes scanning the equally blue sky for any hint of movement. As always, the fingers of one hand were tapping in the grass.

It had been a Saturday like any other, at first. Sebastian made his way to town to chill with Sam by the river and then jam for a while, and they had a session of Solarion Chronicles planned for once Abby managed to escape from her parents. Then they had run into _Maru_ chatting up the new guy on the way home, and he had seen the way Elliott’s eyes narrowed as they walked by. There was zero doubt in Sebastian’s mind that he would side with his half-sister on their little spat today. They were probably still standing there, Elliott listening to Maru telling him all the things she hated about the shitty excuse for a shadow person living in her basement.

Between that and how Elliott had caught the tail end of his fight with Demetrius on Wednesday, it was a good thing Sebastian didn’t give a flying fuck about making friends with the newcomer. What would some city slicker with hair longer than Abby’s who constantly looked dressed for a business meeting have in common with Sebastian, anyway? At least he wasn’t actually a boring-ass lawyer like Abby had guessed—Sam said something about writing. Sebastian assumed he didn’t mean code.

“The whole guitar and keys thing is cool, but like… I feel like there’s something missing. Don’t you think?”

“Whatever you want, man.” Sebastian lifted his cigarette. He saw Sam’s nose wrinkle as he exhaled, even though Sebastian knew Sam was sitting upwind, but the annoyed scrunch of his cheeks didn’t float away like the smoke. “It’s your band.”

Sam looked over, raising an eyebrow. “What? Dude, it’s _our_ band.”

“I just mean, like, it’s your project. Your dream.” Sebastian frowned and looked away, chewing on his lip.

“Are you backing out on me already? How the fuck does that even work, a band splitting up before it’s even formed?” Sam had pulled his legs in and turned, eyeing Sebastian as he sat cross-legged. 

Oh gods, he had done it again. Fucking _words_ and all their multitudes of meaning that Sebastian always managed to mangle. Panic squeezed at his chest.

“ _Sam_. Back the fuck up.” Sebastian rubbed a hand over his face and combed his bangs back behind his ear, where they stayed for an impressive two seconds. “That’s not it at all, I just…”

He spared a glance at Sam, who had pulled back like Sebastian’s request was for physical space and not to rewind the past five minutes. Sam’s knee bounced and a hand itched at the back of his neck and he looked for all the world like he was about to use up every shred of patience he possessed in waiting for Sebastian to continue. The look of concern—worry? panic?—was pulling one side of his mouth into a pout. Sebastian stared at the lake instead of Sam and tried to untangle his words again with the help of one last long drag before the ember hit the filter.

“You’re the musical brains of the operation, here,” Sebastian finally said, afraid Sam would implode if he kept him waiting in silence any longer. “You’re lead guitar. Front man. Photogenic asshole—whatever you want to call it. I’m just, I dunno, backup. If you think the band needs something, I trust you, okay?”

“Oh. That’s…” There was a long sigh from beside him as Sam’s nervous energy melted away. “Seb, I get that you don’t want the spotlight, but you’re not _just backup_. You help me figure shit out all the time. And I can’t just do something like bring in new people without running it by you.”

“Right,” Sebastian snorted. “Cause then you’d have to find a new keyboard player.” 

“Jerk,” Sam said as he gave Sebastian’s shoulder a little shove.

“I bet that pretentious writer plays something like violin if you want to replace me with something more interesting.”

Sam shot him an annoyed huff as Sebastian reached over to stuff the cigarette butt in the can, almost losing his balance. He was only part of Sam’s band because there _weren’t_ any other options, in this death trap of a valley. Maybe Sebastian was passable on keys, but he knew better than to believe he would still be needed once Sam made it to the city and found better musicians to play with. There was no point in Sebastian claiming part ownership of anything—the last thing he wanted to do was drag Sam down with him.

“Really though, what do you think?”

Sebastian’s chest heaved with a sigh as he tried to consider the question seriously. Their options were rather limited. “Something to drive rhythm would help bring things together. Bass or drums—drums would be easiest, since you have a kit and all. Wouldn’t hurt to add harmony on the vocals, but—”

“We could do that anyway, if _someone_ would stop being a self-conscious pain in the ass who insists that—”

“I can’t sing,” Sebastian growled. He shot Sam a glare, but the blonde just grinned at him, hair close to glowing in the sunlight. 

“That is so not true!” Sam laughed. “I’ve caught you rocking out to that emo shit while setting up for Solarion more than once, and there was that one karaoke night—”

“You little piece of slime, you promised we would _never_ speak of that again.” 

Unfortunately for Sebastian, Sam was expecting the attack on his hair and leaned back as Sebastian reached out a hand. His balance thrown off by the miss, Sebastian teetered on one hip for a moment, arms flailing as he tipped over and landed on his back with a squawk, head and shoulders in Sam’s lap.

“Gods, you’re a goofball,” Sam said, his upside down face blocking out the sun above as Sebastian blinked up at him. Sam’s right arm was wedged awkwardly under Sebastian’s shoulder blade, and there was a shoe digging into his ribs. Before Sebastian could struggle upright again, Sam pinned him in place with a hand on his left shoulder and a wry smile, leaning even closer. “I am a man of my word, Seb. Maybe _you_ don’t remember, but I distinctly recall promising not to speak of it _to anyone else_.”

“You’re the worst,” Sebastian groaned, closing his eyes against the blinding sunshine and brilliant smile that was almost—definitely—going to burn him if it came any closer. “And your memory is not to be trusted, anyway.” 

_Too close_ , his brain was yelling, but the hand on his shoulder kept Sebastian from doing anything besides sink further into the discomfort of Sam’s knees and sneakers and the bony wrist digging into his ribs. He tried to dislodge the hair that had fallen across his face with a puff of air, wondering if it would also dislodge Sam long enough for him to escape. Sam chuckled, and the hand moved—but not in the direction Sebastian anticipated. He flinched as it gently brushed the offending hair away from his eyes. The touch left his cheeks tingling.

“Yeah? Well, _you’re_ the worst—” Sam paused.

 _Tell me something I don’t know,_ Sebastian managed to not say out loud. Sam didn’t like it when he said shit like that, and Sebastian’s brain already felt like it was starting to short circuit—he couldn’t deal with the ensuing argument right now. Instead, he cracked an eye open as Sam’s fingers brushed his forehead again, a look of concern on his face. It was such a light touch that Sebastian would have assumed it was the breeze if he hadn’t seen Sam’s hand move.

“—at taking a fucking compliment. And remembering sunscreen. Seb, you’ve been in the sun for like two minutes and you’re burning already.”

“Am _not_ ,” Sebastian choked out, sitting up so quickly his head grazed Sam’s chin. “Fuck off, man.”

Lightheaded from the sudden movement, Sebastian gathered his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them, opening his eyes to darkness. He had figured out a few things during his brief stint at college, the most notable of which—beyond the fact that he was a complete failure—was that he found men just as attractive as women, when he dared think about it. That wasn’t a problem. The problem was that Sebastian had come back home and some piece of his brain had applied that knowledge to his _best friends_ , without his permission. He’d spent his entire life pulling pranks and running around with Sam and Abby, looking after the two overly-enthusiastic younger members of their little trio without ever bothering to think of them as anything else. Until recently.

What the ever-loving fuck was _wrong_ with him, this year?

Slowly, Sebastian raised his head off his knees and turned to look over his shoulder. Sam had turned back towards the lake, legs kicked out again with a toe wiggling in the air. This time his broad shoulders were slumped in, and he was staring at his phone instead of the sky, which was starting to turn gray with threatening clouds. Sam’s head turned just enough for Sebastian to catch how his brow furrowed—and then his eyes flicked Sebastian’s way. It was too much—Sebastian turned back around, tapping a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket and lighting it before he realized what his hands were doing.

“Seb?”

Guilt burned hot in his lungs alongside the smoke, and Sebastian felt eyes on the back of his head. He knew he was pushing things by lighting up again, but it was easier to push Sam away than think about why his cheeks were still burning. There was a rustle of fabric as his friend stood, and Sebastian listened for footsteps walking away.

“Look, I won’t bring it up again,” Sam murmured from somewhere right behind Sebastian, startling him so much he nearly dropped the cigarette. “I thought... I didn’t know you hated that night that much.”

That was the problem; Sebastian _hadn’t_ hated it. Not once he was a few drinks in and rolling with the moment instead of thinking. Not once Sam—sober, but on a sugar high from all the soda—was giggling next to him and insisting he had the _perfect_ song and giving him that _please just once_ look with his gorgeous blue eyes and— _fuck._

He couldn’t remember how many songs they ended up singing. He vaguely remembered Sam holding his hair back as he lost his stomach into a concrete planter on some dark, nameless street in Zuzu City, later that night.

“I hated the hangover more,” he growled around the cigarette. “Just forget it, okay?”

Sam didn’t move. The wind was picking up, cool and damp, blowing leaves past them and rippling the surface of the lake. Sebastian took another pull, resting his chin on his knees.

“Abby’s on her way. We should go set up.”

 _Shit_. Somehow, Sebastian had to hold his awkward ass together for hours with his two _best friends_ , neither of which had any right to make his heart flutter in ways that felt so... wrong.

“Go ahead. You know what scenario we’re on.”

“Seb it’s about to pour,” Sam whined, moving under the tree. The first few sprinkles were already hitting the branches above them.

“Then I’ll get wet.”

“ _Sebastian_. Abby will kill me if I leave you out in the rain. Alone.”

“Don’t fucking worry about me, man.” Sebastian unfolded himself and stood, joints cracking as he straightened his spine with a roll of his shoulders. He turned enough to glare at Sam and took a drag. Sam’s nose scrunched again, but he didn’t leave. “Worry about who the hell we’re gonna to find to play drums in this town, instead.”

Sebastian doubled over coughing a second later, breath caught in his throat at Sam’s unexpected grin.

“Abby said she’s game to learn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through this long chapter! Poor Sebastian is dealing with a lot of Feelings right now and isn't a fan. How long do you think Elliott will manage to stay shut up in his lonely cabin? (Hint: definitely not a fortnight)
> 
> As always, love to ahundredindecisions for beta work-- she can now yell about frogs and squirrels without spoiling one of the particularly amusing bits I've been trying not to share everywhere.


	5. Spring 10 - Another nightmare instead of a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Vincent's birthday, and Sam finally gets a letter, but it's not the one he's been hoping for. 
> 
> Sebastian finally has a shot at landing a steady client, and things keep getting in the way.

— Spring 10 —

“Mom?” Sam stuck his head through the kitchen door, tapping on the door frame as he looked around. “I thought we were leaving at noon. It’s—”

He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck and frowning as his mother tucked something underneath her plate. There was a single bite taken out of the sandwich she’d made for lunch. Vincent careened through the kitchen at that point, running around the table and then coming back to tug on Sam’s hand.

“Can we go? It’s time to go!” 

“Woah there buddy!” Sam grinned down at his little brother and tousled his hair. “I think I saw some toys that need to be put away, first.” He gave Vince a gentle push back towards the living room, ignoring his big blue puppy dog eyes.

“I need help,” he yelled. Sam winced.

“Inside voice, Vincent,” his mother reminded in a somewhat shaky voice, finally looking up. She was as pale as the freshly washed white table cloth.

“You got this, kiddo,” Sam said. “One at a time and you’ll be fine.” He half-hummed the line, wondering if the cadence would fit the song he was working on. His mother’s sigh brought him back to the present, and he pulled out the chair next to her. “Mom, what’s... is that a letter from—”

Jodi pressed a hand to her lips, avoiding Sam’s eyes, and his stomach made a new home for itself somewhere on the floor. Silently, she stood and tossed her braid over her shoulder, pulling the piece of paper back out from under the plate with one hand and beckoning to Sam with the other as she disappeared down the hall. Sam followed into her bedroom and shut the door behind him.

“What’s going on?” 

“Oh, Sam. I wasn’t going to tell you anything, today, but...”

Sam sat on the side of the bed next to his mother, wrapping his arms around her in a fierce hug. She looked down at the folded letter in her hands.

“Your father—” His grip must have tightened, as she looked over at him with wide brown eyes. “No, Sam, they think he’s alive, it’s just—”

“They _think_ he’s alive?”

“Samson, lower your voice,” Jodi hissed. “He’s... his whole unit is missing in action. They have reason to believe they were taken to one of the Gotoro prison camps.”

Sam heard a gasp squeak past his lips. He looked at the door for a second, hoping Vincent hadn’t finished his task just yet, and then turned and buried his face in his mother’s shoulder.

“Don’t tell your brother.”

“Mom, we can’t keep things from him forever,” Sam muttered into the fabric of her shirt, soft against his forehead. “Especially not... he’s a smart kid. He’s going to know something’s wrong.”

“It’s his birthday, Sam, I don’t want to ruin it.” Her hand stroked the back of Sam’s neck, but it didn’t provide much in the way of comfort. Ever since his father had been deployed again there had been a creeping sense of dread in his heart, a little empty space which had only grown over the years. Now, Sam felt hollow. “Honey, please. We can tell him once we know something for sure. It’s not worth—”

“Giving him nightmares about things we don’t know.” Sam pulled away and stood, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket to stifle the urge to punch the wall in frustration. “But they never say anything _for sure_. I wish—”

Rapid footsteps down the hall cut Sam off, and he saw Jodi tuck the letter into the drawer of her nightstand just as the door flew open.

“Done!” Vincent proudly exclaimed. “Can we go?” He stilled for a moment, looking between his mom and brother. Sam forced a smile onto his face, and watched his mother do the same.

“Yeah little buddy, let’s go.” 

Vincent tore back down the hall, but Sam couldn’t quite make his legs work, yet. His mother’s hand reached up to his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“I’m so glad he has you for a big brother,” she said, a real but bittersweet smile on her face, now. Sam sighed and pulled her into a hug, his chin brushing the top of her head, and then squeezed his arms tighter and lifted her off the floor for a moment.

“And I’m glad I have you, too, sunshine,” she added, giggling a little bit when her feet hit the floor again.

“Come oooooon,” came a whine from the living room. 

“Don’t worry dude,” Sam said as he walked back down the hall. “It’s hard to be late to your own birthday party.” He cocked his head slightly and flashed an empty grin at his brother as he went to open the door. It was going to be a long day.

###

“Sam, the cake!”

When Sam thought about it, having a party on the beach this early in spring probably wasn’t the best idea, but Vincent’s insistence had eventually worn both him and his mother down. Now, rain starting to fall harder and harder, Sam reluctantly shoved the paper plate he had been holding over his hair into his back pocket and doubled back to grab the pink cake he’d worked an extra shift to make sure they could afford.

It wasn’t a long walk, but both Sam’s hair and the cake were looking rather worse for the wear by the time they made it through the library door. He set it down on one of the tables in the open space between the shelves and slumped into a chair. They should have brought everything in as soon as Willy pointed at the clouds on the horizon instead of waiting until the first drops started falling.

Vincent didn’t seem disturbed by the change in venue at all, and was running around one of the shelves with Jas until Penny stepped in and pulled out her teacher voice. Sam had to smile at that—Penny might be small and quiet, but she knew how to enforce order with her pupils. He couldn’t help wondering if that tone of voice helped when her mother had been drinking. Probably not.

With the kids finally settled at a table, Penny came over to where Sam sat next to the cake, reaching for the knife to start cutting pieces.

“Hey,” she said, her own bright smile fading a little bit when she saw Sam’s face. “Is something wrong?” Sam felt his mask start to crack.

“Not now, Pen,” he whispered. “Here, let me.” Sam took the knife from her. Cutting slices of cake would give him something to focus on for a few moments, and if Penny saw anything wet on his face, hopefully she would think it was rain. She looked concerned, but picked up two plates of cake and took them back over to where Vincent and Jas were sitting before leaning over to ask if Jodi wanted a piece of cake. Sam wasn’t surprised to see her refuse, but he knew if any of the cake made it home she would sneak a piece after the boys went to bed, like cake eaten in the dark didn’t count on a diet.

###

“Come on,” Penny whispered, tugging on Sam’s sleeve. He hesitated for a moment, looking around to see if anyone was watching, but Vincent was distracted with opening presents and the rest of the adults were either watching or whispering among themselves. Reluctantly, Sam let her pull him around the corner into the empty-shelved museum section of the library. When they were out of sight again, Sam sagged against one of the waist-high display counters. Penny’s grassy green eyes watched him from under furrowed eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t talk about it,” Sam muttered, dropping his chin to his chest.

“Is it your dad? Sam, you know I won’t tell a soul,” Penny said, sounding hurt. “You can trust me.”

He looked up, taking hold of her shoulders and dipping his head to look her in the eyes. “I know. I do. It’s not that, it’s… I just can’t, okay? Not today.” 

“For Vince?” Penny bit her lip, reaching her right hand up to squeeze his cold fingers against her shoulder. “Let me know if you need to talk, later,” she said softly. 

“Yeah.” Sam dropped his hands, feeling her fingers linger on his. “Go on, I’ll be back in a minute. I’m okay, Pen,” he added, when Penny looked reluctant. She sighed, glancing back at Sam with worried eyes before she turned the corner. 

Once she was out of sight, Sam pulled out his phone and sent a quick text before he leaned back against the cabinets again to stare up at the ceiling, drumming the fingers of one hand on the counter. Hopefully Sebastian wasn’t busy, today. Sam didn’t need to _talk_ —he needed to _do_ something, distract himself, keep his mind off the hollow ache in his chest that threatened to crack him open completely. He nearly dropped the phone when it vibrated in his hand a few minutes later.

> Sebby~~
> 
> chill later?
> 
> Wed 1:32 PM
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Working all night. Literally.
> 
> Wed 1:35 PM

He rolled his eyes, knowing Sebastian was dead serious. It didn’t matter, though; Sebastian was the only person who never insisted they _talk_. Instead, his best friend would toss him a game controller or work while Sam fooled around on his guitar or argue about music genres or go over their next Solarion Chronicles campaign—anything but making Sam talk or letting Sam think. He hardly knew what to think about his father being gone this long—or coming back—or _not_ coming back—on a good day, and this was not a good day. Sebastian was his go-to man when Sam needed to get out of his head on not-good days.

> Sebby~~
> 
> idc. not sure when i can get away tho 
> 
> Wed 1:36 PM
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Wait are you not at work? Please tell me it’s still Wednesday.
> 
> Wed 1:40 PM
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> v’s bday, took the day off, duh
> 
> Wed 1:41 PM

It wasn’t that they didn’t talk while they chilled. They talked a lot, actually—mostly Sam. Sometimes things just needed to be said out loud before they made sense in his head. The difference was that Sebastian knew there weren’t always answers, and didn’t bother trying to make any up just to have something to say. Twelve years of friendship had taught Sam he could drop the facade of cheery helpfulness everyone expected of him when the two of them were alone. He knew Sebastian felt the same way—or he hoped so, at least. It had been a while since his best friend had let his guard down completely, even around Sam. _That_ thought was nearly as sobering as any vague news from one of the official army-sealed envelopes.

Still lost in his head, Sam jumped when he heard someone clear their throat. He instinctively looked in the direction Penny had gone, but the next sound came from the other side, near the back of the room. 

“…oh shit! I mean, uh, shoot. Sorry,” Sam stammered as he caught sight of a tall man in red leaning against the wall with an open book in hand, watching him. Elliott. Sam ran a hand up to the back of his neck, frowning as fingers touched damp, soggy gel. Faced with the writer’s brilliant copper hair, long and straight and perfectly in order, he was suddenly self-conscious about what the rain must have done to his spikes. “Didn’t know anyone was here.” 

“Ah. I am… I was just trying to enjoy a quiet afternoon,” he said, closing the book with a finger marking his spot.

“Oh gods. Did we crash your beach party?” A memory clicked as Elliott turned slightly—he’d seen the back of that red blazer and brilliant hair walking towards town from the beach as they were setting up for Vincent’s party. Sam felt an embarrassed blush rise to his cheeks. “I didn’t see—I totally would have asked—or at least _invited_ you, man.“

“I was at home,” Elliott said, a small frown on his face. “Don’t concern yourself over descending upon the beach without warning—I should have expected it would be heavily frequented by those desiring fresh air and exercise. It is public property, after all. I was simply unprepared for the amount of noise.”

Sam cocked his head to one side. Elliott had been at _home_? The only building on the beach besides Willy’s fish shop was the old shack that Sam had broken into with Sebastian once _years_ ago. Abby would have nothing to do with it after she spotted a spider on the windowsill. It was dusty and boring inside, and all they got out of that particular adventure were more community service hours than they knew what to do with.

“Wait, you live—”

“Sam? Sam!” There was zero warning before Vincent tackled Sam’s waist, nearly knocking him over. Eyes wide, he stepped back to tug at Sam’s hand. “Why are you hiding?” 

“Huh? I’m… not…” For a moment, all Sam could do was stare at his little brother. Maybe he was. No, he definitely was, and his stomach dropped to somewhere near his feet. Hiding from his little brother instead of being there for him—being strong. Sam stuck his phone back in his pocket and rubbed at the back of his neck again. “I was just saying hi. To, uh—”

Vincent tugged Sam down urgently to whisper in his ear. “Mister Elliott doesn’t like squirrels.” Sam pulled back, shooting a confused look at Elliott before grinning at his brother.

“Right on, man. Why don’t you go ask Miss Penny if you can have more cake, and then I’ll come look at your birthday haul.”

His brother giggled as Sam gave him a wink and then ran off again, disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared in the first place. 

“Squirrels?” Sam asked, turning back to Elliott, who just shrugged. “Well, uh. Sorry again. It’s been a... a day. Do you, um, want a piece of cake?”

Elliott’s eyebrows shot up, but he smiled faintly, shaking his head as he opened his book again. “Thank you, Sam, but as kind as the offer is, I will leave the cake for your brother and other partygoers.”

He had gone straight back to reading, though Sam wasn’t sure how he could concentrate with the noise in the room next door. Maybe he couldn’t. Sam gave a timid wave just in case he was looking and was walking back into the main room of the library when his phone buzzed again.

> Sebby~~
> 
> Oh. Bring real food? Friends don’t let friends eat mushroom casserole.
> 
> Wed 1:56 PM
> 
> cant prmise, cake is almost gone
> 
> Wed 1:56 PM
> 
> Cake isn’t real food either. You’re going to kill me one of these days.
> 
> Wed 1:58 PM
> 
> shit u cant even hve cake??? ugh idk then
> 
> Wed 1:59 PM

He caught Penny frowning at him from across the room, probably assuming—correctly—it was Sam’s fault Vincent was asking for more cake. Sam shrugged at her and worked his way over to where Vincent was unwrapping a set of plastic toy soldiers, swallowing hard as he put on another smile.

“You doing okay, sunshine?” 

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch on his elbow. His mother had on a smile that looked as forced as the one Sam could feel on his own face. He looked away, back at his brother, whose smile burned bright and innocent and happy like it should. Like nothing was wrong.

_There might be nothing wrong._

“I’m o-okay,” he said, dry lips fumbling a little around the lie.

“He’s going to be a handful, tonight,” she sighed. “So much cake.”

Sam found a brief chuckle hidden somewhere in his lungs, probably released as whatever small hope he had of running to Sebastian’s immediately after the party flew away in the company of sugar-induced shrieks and giggles. 

“Two of us, one of him,” he said, hugging his mother’s slight shoulders with an arm. She smiled a little brighter and walked away, already looking tired. Sam leaned against a bookshelf and pulled out his phone again.

> Sebby~~
> 
> might b super late
> 
> Wed 2:11 PM
> 
> You know where the key is.
> 
> Wed 2:24 PM

* * *

Sebastian’s stomach growled. He glanced at the clock on his computer and did a double take as he heard footsteps on the stairs—Sam, trying to be quiet and failing as usual. The door cracked open without a knock.

“Dude. It’s almost _midnight_.”

“Hey, yourself,” Sam muttered, throwing his backpack down on the couch and stalking across the room to flop face-first onto Sebastian’s bed.

“Didn’t know birthday parties for ten-year-olds went this late.”

“Fuck off.” Sam’s spiked hair lifted enough for him to glare across the room. “Vince would not shut up about wishing Dad could play with his new toys and it was a nightmare getting him to bed.”

Sebastian frowned. “Doesn’t he go to bed at, like, eight?”

“Do you know how much sugar he had, today? Whatever you’re about to guess, double it. And then Mom wanted to talk.”

He saw Sam’s head drop back down onto the bed, golden hair standing out like a blazing star against the black sheets. Sebastian’s stomach growled again.

“Shit, Seb,” Sam mumbled into the mattress.

“Huh?” 

“Go fucking eat something. I don’t want to wake up without a brain cause you’ve gone all zombie on me.”

“What brain?” Sebastian scoffed, looking back at his computer screen. Concentration already interrupted, it was as good a time as any to go scavenge in the kitchen. “Fine. You want anything?” he asked, standing a little too quickly and touching his fingers to the wall as he waited for the lightheaded feeling to pass.

“Nah.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, not that Sam could see the incredulous expression with how his face was tucked into the crook of his elbow. He took the stairs quietly in sock-covered feet, padding his way into the dark kitchen. Nothing in the fridge looked remotely appetizing, and nothing new appeared the second time Sebastian opened the door. He settled for heating up a noodle cup in the microwave, killing the power with three seconds left so it didn’t beep, and grabbed a pudding cup and spoon after a moment’s thought. Sam was always hungry.

When he made it back to the bottom of the stairs and pushed the door open quietly, Sam was shirtless and pulling on the pajama pants he left in Sebastian’s dresser for occasions just like this. They’d had plenty of sleepovers as kids, but one or the other of them ending up on a couch or floor for a night was still a regular occurrence—the reasons had just shifted over the years. It wasn’t just clothes; Sam had _finally_ left hair gel in one of the vanity drawers after the millionth time complaining about not being able to fix his hair in the morning.

Sebastian swallowed the lump in his throat as he stood in the half-open door and watched his friend stretch, hands clasped high above his golden head for a long moment. Last summer’s tan had faded, leaving arms only marginally darker than the rest of his torso and broad shoulders. Sam didn’t go out of his way to work out, but between skateboarding and stocking shelves at JoJa mart, he wasn’t a skinny twig like Sebastian. Getting so wrapped up in work he forgot to eat half the time had its advantages, but building muscle wasn’t one of them. Sam actually had some definition to his arms, and—

_Oh, fuck._

He was staring. Totally staring. Sam was staring too—at some undefined point on the floor by the game table, thankfully. Sebastian nudged the door open further, slipping in and leaning back against it to close it. Sam’s head jerked up as the latch clicked into place.

“Bloody hell, you’re worse than a shadow person, Seb. Make some fucking noise.”

“Hey, catch—”

Sam turned as Sebastian tossed the pudding cup, ducking out of the way and watching as it landed with a thud on the mattress. 

“You bring a spoon?”

“Maybe I’d rather make you struggle without one as penance for stealing my bed,” Sebastian chided.

“What, you’d rather see me use my tongue? Kinky.”

There wasn’t anything on the floor, but Sebastian nearly tripped, anyway. Still in the middle of pulling a baggy blue t-shirt on, Sam completely missed the fact that hot noodles had almost gone flying across the room. Sebastian shook his hair down into his face as he sat on the edge of the bed, hoping Sam would also miss the blush creeping across his cheeks.

“Whatever you want,” Sebastian muttered, tossing the spoon next to the pudding cup. “Just don’t get that all over my sheets.”

“Oh Yoba,” Sam moaned. “When was the last time you _washed_ these—ugh, fuck, never mind.” 

“You know I have like three sets of black sheets, right?”

“That doesn’t help if you don’t change them.”

“Be my guest. Hall closet, second shelf up,” Sebastian sniggered, pulling his feet up and sitting cross-legged to lean against the headboard. He grabbed the fork in his noodle cup, pulling his hand back with a hiss as his fingers touched hot metal. There was a sigh as Sam settled on to the other end of the bed with his back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of him.

“So you’re really stealing my bed tonight?”

“You said you’re not gonna be using it,” Sam said as he picked up the pudding cup. “It’s more comfortable than the couch.” 

Sebastian shrugged and picked up his fork again, slightly cooler now, and was several bites in before he realized Sam was still staring at the unopened pudding in his hand.

“You gonna eat that?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought maple butterscotch was your favorite. Mom basically gets those for you, man.”

“Right,” Sam said, finally tearing the foil off the top. “Yeah.”

###

“So whatcha working on that’s gonna take all night?” Sam finally asked after demolishing the pudding—with the spoon, to Sebastian’s surprise. He snagged one of Sebastian’s many pillows and propped it against the footboard, laying back to stare at the last surviving constellations dreamed up by the two of them after Sebastian got a giant package of glow-in-the-dark stars for his thirteenth birthday. His bedroom had looked like a planetarium for a while, but Sebastian had taken most of them down after taking a star or two to the head in the middle of the night as the sticky tack wore out. Eventually, his mother would find out Sam had reinforced the remaining ones with glue.

“Test project for a potential client.”

Sam’s head popped back up off the pillow, his face brightening considerably. “One time gig, or...” Sebastian shook his head, mouth full. Sam grinned at him. “Really? Steady stuff? So that’s why you’ve been so quiet. Rad. You’ll knock it out of the park, man.”

“Would be a hell of a lot easier if _someone_ didn’t go around blowing fuses upstairs,” Sebastian growled. His stomach twisted at the memory of the basement plunging suddenly into darkness Monday evening. 

“Fuck, really? Demetrius?” 

“Other one.”

“What’s Maru doing that’s blowing fuses down here?” Sam muttered. 

“Yoba only knows,” Sebastian sighed, trying to push the anger back down. “I’m an idiot and hadn’t backed up for hours. It took me most of Tuesday to get back to where I was.” He looked back down at his mostly-eaten noodle cup, not sure he could finish it. Sebastian had also gone through an entire pack of cigarettes in the process of catching back up—a detail he wasn’t going to share with Sam. 

“I’ve got until five on Friday, and fuck am I going to crash hard. Sam, uh…” 

Sebastian hated to say it— _hated_ to see Sam disappointed—but there was no way around it. He had so much to do, and it always took longer than he thought it would.

“Dunno if I’ll make it down for pool. Or be awake enough to jam, Saturday.”

Sam winced and bit his lip, staring at the ceiling. It was a while before he sighed and spoke again, sounding utterly miserable. “Saturday’s the egg festival, anyway.” 

“Then I’ll have a good excuse to miss it, for once,” Sebastian said, unfolding himself and stretching as he stood, shoulders and wrists cracking. He set the unfinished meal on the end of the desk—promising himself he’d get to it later even though he knew it would just sit there and grow stone cold all night—and crashed back down into his computer chair with a sigh.

“Think that writer will be there?”

“…huh?”

“Elliott.” Sam sat up and licked the spoon off, tossing the empty cup into the trash and the dirty spoon towards Sebastian. “Have you not met him yet or something?”

“Why should I want to?” Sebastian said, glaring as the spoon bounced off the headboard of the bed and thudded to the floor, skidding under the desk. 

Sam looked a little startled. “Chill, man, I was just wondering. He seems nice enough. I saw him at Vincent’s party today.”

“…he went to your brother’s party?” 

“I mean, I don’t think he planned on it,” Sam admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. It was the most obvious of his nervous tells. “We had to move it to the library when it started pouring, and, uh. I didn’t know he lives on the fucking beach, not over at the old farm. Which, like, rad, but I think we kinda ruined his afternoon. Twice. He was hiding in the back of the library when Penny dragged me there to ask about… well.” There was a pause and a heavy sigh. “Dude has killer hair. I wonder how long it takes to deal with that in the morning.”

“What, are you jealous?” Sebastian suggested, glancing over at Sam so he could see the affronted scowl he knew would be on his friend’s face. 

“No! I just—”

“Sam, I don’t give a junimo's ass about some uptight prick who thought it would be fun to move to this backwater hell hole and live in a spider-infested shack on the beach. I need to get back to work.”

Sam winced like something had just stung him, eyes wide and face completely blank. Sebastian could hear his own heart beating in the silence, loud and fast and guilty. He snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late—the words were out, and he couldn’t get them back.

“Right. Sorry, man.”

The next time Sebastian looked over, Sam had curled up on his side and turned in towards the wall so that all Sebastian could see was the curve of his back. With a sigh and a sinking feeling in his stomach, Sebastian turned the overhead light off and tore his eyes away from Sam, his world shrinking down to consist solely of the pool of light cast by his desk lamp as he focused on his computer. This client could be his ticket out of this miserable valley.

He could deal with Sam later.

###

A startled yelp followed by a whimper broke Sebastian’s concentration, and he nearly knocked over his half-empty coffee mug. He looked up, confused, before finally remembering there was someone else in the room. Another whimper came from the bed, high and insistent and terrified.

“Sam?”

A glance at his computer showed it was pushing three in the morning. Sebastian hit save twice out of habit and stood, half stumbling on tired legs over to where Sam had fallen asleep. If anything, he had curled in on himself even further. It was hard to see his face, deep in the shadow cast by the headboard and half buried in a pillow. Sebastian eased himself onto the edge of the bed near Sam’s shoulders, leaving one leg hung over the side. It had been seasons—maybe years—since he had seen his best friend caught this deeply in a nightmare.

“Sam, _wake up_.” 

Another whine broke out of Sam’s throat, and Sebastian laid a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder, pulling him away from the wall. His other hand was ready to catch a flailing fist; Sam had accidentally decked him waking up from a nightmare once in high school, and he didn’t care for a repeat performance. His mother thought he had been fighting with Alex at school again, as the bruises from _that_ fight had just faded when he’d come home from Sam’s sporting another black eye. Sebastian’s stomach twisted just thinking about the shit that stupid conceited wannabe jock had called Sam. It had been Abby that had rescued them both; maybe Sebastian punched like a girl, but Abby sure as hell didn’t.

“ _Samson_. Snap out of it.” He gave the shoulder he was holding a squeeze.

Finally, Sam’s eyes popped open, staring at Sebastian, wild and mostly pupil in the near-darkness. His breathing was ragged and shallow, panting like he’d just run all the way up the mountain.

“Sam? You’re okay, man. It was just a bad dream.”

“Wha—Sebby?” It was a soft, shaky voice that slipped into using Sebastian’s old nickname. Sam rubbed a hand over his eyes, squeezing them closed again. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

Sam closed his eyes, frowning. “Interrupting your work.” He tried to roll back over. Sebastian gritted his teeth and held firm, peering down at Sam’s face, tear-stained and pinched in fear.

Sebastian’s blood ran cold as his sleep-deprived brain caught up to the present, connecting dots along the way. He always saw the signs too late. Sam had shown up in the middle of the night, quiet and moody and _not hungry_ of all things, and all Sebastian had done was joke around, whine about his own family, and snap at him. It was obvious— _so fucking obvious_ —something was wrong, and now it was _Sam_ apologizing when Sebastian was the only jackass in the room. It made his skin crawl with guilt. Sam deserved better friends than this.

“I’m... I didn’t... You’re _not_ ,” Sebastian insisted, his own voice shaking and barely more than a whisper. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

There was a shuddering intake of breath and Sam managed to twist out of Sebastian’s grip—unexpectedly rolling _towards_ him instead of the wall. Sebastian froze, breath caught in the back of his throat, torn between flinching away and staying still.

“Yoba forbid _anything_ ruin Vince’s birthday,” Sam groaned through clenched teeth. “It’s not worth giving _him_ nightmares about things we don’t know.” The biting sarcasm hung heavy in the still air of the basement. “I’ve had to fake a smile _all fucking day_. Sebby, I can’t do this anymore… I just can’t...”

It wasn’t a big bed, and Sam wasn’t a small person, but somehow he looked so tiny, curled up around himself and tangled hopelessly in the sheets. Sebastian eased himself up onto the mattress near Sam’s head and grabbed all the pillows he could reach, stuffing them behind his back to make leaning against the headboard a little more comfortable. He set a hand back on Sam’s shoulder, thumb rubbing gently over the fabric of his shirt.

“I _can’t,_ ” Sam repeated, clutching his arms so tightly to his chest that his fingertips were going white where they wrapped around his bicep. A chill ran down Sebastian’s spine.

 _Has Sam_ ever _said that before?_

Sebastian fought down his own rising panic. He had barely known what to do when Abby had almost cried on him earlier this week, and this was worse— _so much worse_. Abby hadn’t needed words, just someone to lean on. Sam needed... gods, whatever Sam needed, Sebastian would give; he just had to figure out what that was, first. Maybe someone to lean on was the place to start.

“C’mere, Sam.”

 _Touch_. Hushing Sam’s weak protests, Sebastian slowly coaxed him to uncurl. Soon, Sam’s forehead was pressed firmly against Sebastian’s torso, and his nose was digging uncomfortably into his ribs. Sleep-mussed golden spikes were close enough that he could have run a hand through them, breaking up the stiff gel like he wanted to break the nightmare into a million pieces. He settled for wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulders. When his hand came to rest on top of cold, clammy skin, Sebastian pulled quickly back, mind and heart both racing. If _Sam_ felt cold to his perpetually frozen fingers… 

_Warmth_. Sebastian managed to sit up far enough to catch the corner of one of the blankets Sam had thrown off in his sleep and pulled it over both of them. Some small part of him wondered if Sam could hear his heartbeat with how hard his head pressed against Sebastian’s chest for a moment, or if it only sounded like thunder in his own ears. Sam shivered under the blanket, another sad and undecipherable noise escaping his lips. It made goosebumps prickle across Sebastian’s arms, even underneath the thick fabric of his hoodie.

The blanket wasn’t enough. Just being next to Sam wasn’t enough. Panic rose in the back of Sebastian’s throat. He had to get whatever triggered this mess out of Sam— _get Sam out of his head_ —and there was only one thing he knew of that would be enough to provoke nightmares this terrible.

“Letter?” he whispered, not sure he could trust his voice with more than one word at a time.

Sam nodded against his side, another shudder running through his body. An arm wrapped around Sebastian’s waist, hot and heavy and pinning him in place. Sebastian fought down the feeling of being _trapped_ as long fingers tangled in the fabric of his sweatshirt. He wasn’t trapped; he had pulled Sam in. Sam needed him.

“Is he...” Sebastian couldn’t finish the question. 

“Missing.”

Sam’s voice broke on the single word and tears followed, with shaking shoulders and breath coming out in gasps. Helpless, all Sebastian could do was watch as his best friend _clung_ like he would fall apart completely if his fingers slipped for even a second. Like Sebastian was the only solid thing left in the world. Like he was the anchor keeping Sam from floating away into the storm.

Sebastian was familiar with uncertainty. Not even his mother knew whether his father was dead or alive—he left without a word before Sebastian was born and never looked back. Uncertainty was just another piece of Sebastian’s miserable existence, along with things like hiding in the basement while the rest of his so-called family ate dinner together upstairs and never having his work taken seriously. 

Sam, on the other hand, had a family he loved with all the intensity of summer sunshine. _Sam_ of all people didn’t deserve to live in that awful gray area where there were only questions without answers. Sam, bright and confident and talented, should never be the one saying _I can’t_.

Anger flared again, that same protective flame that had driven Sebastian to defend Sam from the gridball player who could have broken him in half with one hand. But there was no punch he could throw, and no certainty to be had. Instead, Sebastian swallowed his anger and bottled all the other awkward and terrible feelings lurking in his chest as he pulled Sam even closer.

“I’ve got you, Sammy. I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep-- Elliott made it a whole three days before setting foot outside again. Poor guy was so determined, too...
> 
> I know this chapter kinda piles on the angst; I've been both nervous and excited to post it. Coming Saturday, the fallout between this and the egg festival... much shorter chapter with a very different style!


	6. Spring 11-12 - When the sun came up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the sun comes up after a terrible night, Sam feels bad, and Sebastian just wants to move on. Will he finish his project in time for their traditional Friday night pool game?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've tried doing anything with work skins, sorry it's kind of wonky! 
> 
> If you're on mobile I HIGHLY recommend going up and hitting 'hide creator's style'-- it looks fine on mobile without it.

—Spring 11—

Sebby~~

where r u?

Thu 10:30 AM

Lake

Thu 10:35 AM

gonna take a shower

Thu 10:36 AM

dude you ok?

Thu 10:48 AM

Just need some air

Thu 10:52

i hear its better w/o smoke

Thu 10:53 AM

Fuck off

Thu 11:04

Did you seriously take the last cup of coffee?

Thu 11:15

* * *

@CoffeeAtMidnight (do not disturb)

—Thursday, Spring 11—

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:50 AM

hey

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:02 PM

i know youre on, seb

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:10 PM

sebastian

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:15 PM

im sorry

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:15 PM

…wtf dude?

For what?

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:17 PM

being an ass

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:17 PM

…Sam you’re not an ass.

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:18 PM

taking your coffee

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:18 PM

Okay, you’re an ass.

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:20 PM

i’m just sorry, ok/??

for last night

i didnt mean to interrupt

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:30 PM

seb?

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:32 PM

Dude it was a nightmare.

No one means to have nightmares.

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:33 PM

no after that

the rest of it :/

i was going to say this before i left but someone didn’t ever come back to his room

i know u don’t like cuddling

sorry i fell asleep on u

i didnt drool did i/???

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:33 PM

……

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:34 PM

That wasn’t cuddling.

That was taking care of a friend having a shitty night.

Just forget about it, okay?

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:38 PM

Sam?

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:40 PM

Sam, don’t make this awkward.

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:41 PM

at least i didnt punch u again i guess

i still feel bad about that :(

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:41 PM

Why are you so awful at forgetting things that I tell you to forget???

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:43 PM

and i’m glad u dozed off 

youve been working alot

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:43 PM

WTF. Samson.

What part of don’t make this awkward don’t you understand?

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:45 PM

i’m not!!

youre the one being akward about it

dude how many time have we slept in the same bed

like eleventy billion

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:45 PM

When we were kids, Sam.

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 12:46 PM

fine fine

but its not akward for besties to cuddle, man

there’s even a word for it right, like, plutonic or something??

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:47 PM

………

Please stop butchering the english language.

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 12:59 PM

Look I should be the one apologizing

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 1:00 PM

?????

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 1:05 PM

sebastian u can’t say shit like that and leave

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 1:15 PM

dude what’s up with u lately? :/

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 1:26 PM

tell me what’s eating ur brain and i’ll leave u alone

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 1:35 PM

:(

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 1:40 PM

omfy, can I not take a shower?

I was being a jerk all fucking night that’s all

You should’ve punched me in your sleep again

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 1:41 PM

what? 

no!!!~~

u brought me pudding and saved me from falling the fuck apart and jerks don’t do those things :(

seb youre totally the absolute bestest friend and i don’t deserve u

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 1:43 PM

and like whatever’s wrong, if u need some plutonic cuddling i’m here, dude 

B)

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 1:45 PM

……

For the last. fucking. time.

nothings wrong

forget about it

and whatever you’re about to say, just fucking don’t

i need to finish this

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 1:46 PM

right

sorry

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:48 PM

look i know were forgetting about it but i can’t sleep and i just wanted to say i’m so glad u were there 

youre always there when i need u

thx sebby <3

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:55 PM

i really mean it

* * *

Group DM: ASSchat

@Littlbee (online)

@sk8ingonsunshine (idle)

@CoffeeAtMidnight (do not disturb)

—Friday, Spring 12—

**littlbee** Today at 1:22 PM

Seb are you alive?

**littlbee** Today at 2:06 PM

 **@CoffeeAtMidnight** dude are you coming tonight?

**littlbee** Today at 2:35 PM

Sebastian don’t make me come up there and bust your door in

I don’t care if you’re naked

**littlbee** Today at 2:40 PM

Fine I’ll send **@sk8ingonsunshine** to do it

@sk8ingonsunshine (online)

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:41 PM

whoa 

what

who says i want to see that?

**littlbee** Today at 2:42 PM

Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it before

I’m sure you guys cuddle all the time

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:42 PM

lol abby

guys don’t cuddle

**littlbee** Today at 2:43 PM

That’s bull

Sebby’s a total softie at heart and he gives great cuddles when he gets over not knowing how to hug someone

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:43 PM

how 

would i know

when we don’t cuddle

ever

**littlbee** Today at 2:44 PM

Whatever

You’re missing out

sebASStian just say something

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:46 PM

o shit

did he not tell u?

big project due at 5

**littlbee** Today at 2:47 PM

Ugh I just want to know how much cash to bring since APPARENTLY I’m buying pizza tonight

Is that too much to ask

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:48 PM

just get enough for all of us and i’ll eat his to

and maybe share if he finishes his thing and rolls down the mountain

alot of pineapple, right seb?

**littlbee** Today at 2:48 PM

Gross!!!

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:49 PM

fruit is an important part of any balanced diet

**littlbee** Today at 2:52 PM

Since when do you listen to harvey?

Anyway sebastian, you’re an ass for not telling me why you’ve been dead to the world, and you better not actually be dead

Cause I will come kill you again

You can’t die until we finish this solarion campaign

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:53 PM

i mean i could switch from paladin to necromancer

and bring him back

theres a necromancer class right?

**littlbee** Today at 2:55 PM

No way dude, all you’re good at is hitting on things

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:55 PM

wait what/?

**littlbee** Today at 2:56 PM

*hitting things

Ugh

See you in a few, sam

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:57 PM

hey maybe i’ll finally win a game tonight!!

**littlbee** Today at 3:01 PM

Lol yeah right

@Littlbee (offline)

@sk8ingonsunshine (offline)

**CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 4:40 PM

Omy I hate you both.

* * *

Sebby~~

seb did u get the thing done?

Fri 5:02 PM

come on man i need to know

Fri 5:43 PM

abs knows abt dad

Fri 7:32 PM

nothing else tho, i swear

Fri 7:45 PM

* * *

@CoffeeAtMidnight (do not disturb)

—Friday, Spring 12—

**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 10:20 PM

seb im gonna feel so bad if u didn’t finish it

  
  


**sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 10:34 PM

look just text me when youre up

i’ll probably be at the pollen festival already

eating all the eggs

so they don’t kill u

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter and a bit of a different style, today! It's established in-game that the trio chat online, and I thought it would be rather amusing to include some text/chat based chapters like this on occasion. Love it? Hate it? It was fun to write, regardless.
> 
> Coming next, the Egg Festival! Our first major town event since Elliott's arrival. Will he even attend? Will Sebastian sleep through the whole thing? Will Abby win the egg hunt for the 13th year running? It's going to be another long chapter, so get your popcorn ready.


	7. Spring 13 - Keeping a tally, but who can keep track

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the long-awaited egg hunt! Elliott meets more new people whether he likes it or not. Sam is still worried about being awkward. Abby is aiming for year 13 of the egg hunt crown. Sebastian tries to avoid the whole thing.

— Spring 13 —

“Well well, if it isn’t Elliott!” 

Gus’s booming voice, plenty capable of keeping a bar in order, rang out across the square and a few heads turned their way. So much for Elliott’s plan to sneak into town for groceries without being seen.

“Good morning, Gus.” Elliott hoped he sounded calmer than he felt. “Lovely weather for a gathering, I see.”

The bartender chuckled as he walked down the steps of the saloon. “Yes, yes, it always is. I hope you enjoy the food. I’ve been cooking for days to get everything ready for the egg festival.”

“The egg festival?” Elliott muttered to himself, looking around the square. It was decked out with flowers and baskets of eggs, and there was a dark-haired man in a blue sweatshirt helping Marnie set up tables and chairs. Everything was covered with mint green tablecloths. Elliott did his best to suppress the frown tugging at his lips. 

“Er, you’re not allergic to eggs, are you?”

“Ah, no.” Elliott raised an eyebrow at him. “I just wasn’t expecting—”

“Excellent! Then we’ve got fried eggs, boiled eggs, poached eggs, deviled eggs, scrambled eggs, chocolate eggs...” Gus was ticking the various dishes off on his fingers as he named them. “I suppose I should try and have more than just chocolate eggs on hand for Sebastian, but it is the egg festival,” he emphasized.

“He’s... allergic?” Elliott hazarded, tucking that away for future reference.

“Not until a few years ago. Poor kid still comes down to watch Abigail win the egg hunt every year, but yes,” Gus shook his head. “I had to stop brushing egg yolk on the edges of my pizza crust when we finally figured that one out. He’d come in on Fridays with the gang and leave an itchy mess.”

“I didn’t realize allergies could be developed like that,” Elliott mused.

“Oh yes,” said a voice he didn’t recognize. “The body is simply amazing,” it continued as Elliott and Gus both turned towards the square. A tall man, easily Elliott’s equal in height, was making his way towards them in a green suit coat and brown slacks. His hands were clasped behind his back, though he let go momentarily to adjust thick-rimmed black glasses and tug at his collar. Thick brown hair was combed somewhat carelessly to one side, just long enough to graze the top of his ear, and his mustache lifted slightly as he stopped a few feet away.

“Morning, Doc!” Gus said, cheerfully. “If you two don’t mind, I need to set up the punch. Make sure you try some, it’s always a hit.” The bartender hummed to himself as he walked across the square to one of the buffet tables where a large crystal punch bowl was waiting.

“Allergies are simply an over-reaction to some kind of foreign substance in the body or environment. Sometimes the amount of substance required to trigger an allergic reaction changes as one gets older. Sebastian is fortunate his reactions are mild. I have been trying to tell him that allergies can become life-threatening without warning, but he...” The other man grimaced at Elliott and shook his head, stepping back. “Sorry. Doctor/patient confidentiality. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I can’t help being concerned.”

“Someone must concern themselves with others when they are not able to be concerned about themselves,” Elliott said, letting his eyes drift around the square. “For whatever reason.”

Despite the early hour, there was already quite a commotion. Pierre was setting up a booth outside with the help of a rather disgruntled-looking Abigail and looking even more bland than usual between his purple-haired daughter and green-haired wife as Caroline joined them carrying a display of seeds. The two children from the playground were chasing each other in circles under Penny’s watchful eye. Other townsfolk were starting to filter into the square from various directions. Mayor Lewis was wandering around, holding an empty basket.

“Oh! Ah. Exactly. It’s not often I meet someone that understands that. Which, uh, I don’t think we’ve met.”

When Elliott looked back over, the man was holding a hand out rather sheepishly. He reached out to shake it, surprised at its warmth and softness. All the other doctors Elliott had made acquaintance with—not many, to be fair—were rather more clinical and cold than this man. The hand had also been a bit sweaty. Harvey looked nervous, like he was no more confident he belonged here than Elliott was.

“Elliott,” he said, immediately sticking his hand back into his blazer pocket.

“Pleasure to meet you, Elliott.” He paused for a moment, tugging at the collar of his shirt with his other hand before sticking his own hands deep in his pants pockets. “Ah, I’m Harvey, the local doctor. I perform regular check-ups and medical procedures for all the residents of Pelican Town. It’s rewarding work, despite the... challenges.”

Elliott cocked his head, brushing some loose hair back behind his ear. “Challenges?”

Harvey frowned slightly and shifted his weight, hazel eyes cast to the side. “It’s not easy, replacing a well-loved small town doctor when you’re fresh out of med school. I’m just not conf—I can’t—I don’t do well in high pressure situations. _Hospitals_...” Elliott saw him shudder. “No, no, this is more my speed. Things have improved over the past five years, and still...”

“It is hard to earn the trust of strangers.”

They stood in silence for a moment, both with hands in their pockets and eyes looking elsewhere. Elliott’s fingers ran over the lighter, a smooth and comforting weight.

“I was thinking more of friendship than trust,” Harvey said quietly. “But I suppose it’s hard to have one without the other.” He paused, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe across his forehead. “I heard you’re a writer? Surely that sort of talent with words gives you an advantage over my dreary medical textbook jargon when dealing with matters of the heart. Figuratively, I mean.”

“Your confidence in my ability to create instead of destroy is admirable. Perhaps I will share it, someday,” Elliott said, momentarily swept up in a crashing wave of memories. Confidence? When was the last time someone else had shown confidence in his talents? Even Elliott had trouble finding confidence in himself, anymore. “Regardless, I will leave literal matters of the heart in your hands.”

“Oh. Ah. Yes, that seems like the best course of action. The heart is an incredibly complex organ, after all.” 

Elliott eyed the doctor warily, noting how his toe had started tapping the cobbles of the square. Harvey tugged at his collar once again, a deep red blush starting to creep up his neck. 

“I, er, hate to bring this up here, Elliott,” started the doctor, turning back towards Elliott and taking something out of his pocket. “But you have yet to stop by the clinic, and I really should get you on the calendar for an annual exam.”

If Elliott had been holding something, he would have dropped it. As it was, all he dropped was his jaw.

“Really, I don’t need—”

“Everyone comes in for routine check-ups, it’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“But I haven’t—”

“If you want to have records sent in from your last doctor that is acceptable, but I still need to do a physical. Let me see what dates are available.”

Elliott felt his cheeks start to burn, and tried to wipe his palms on the insides of his pockets. The mayor turned their direction with the basket, a smile lighting up his face when he saw Elliott. Harvey was flipping through a little book, unperturbed.

“Elliott! My boy, it’s good to see you out and about!” Lewis strode purposefully over towards them, holding the basket out. “This is the first of our spring events here in the valley. Are you here to join in the festivities?”

“If by join in you mean partake of the buffet tables, I suppose so,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh don’t be shy, young man. No one is too old to join in the annual egg hunt.” Lewis fiddled with his mustache. “Here, I’ve got an extra basket.”

“You… want _me_ to run around stealing eggs from _children_?” 

Lewis laughed, dry and croaking. “Come now, Abigail is twenty—oh Yoba that makes me feel old—and has won the past twelve years in a row. She could use some new competition!”

Elliott scowled, adjusting his tie. “I am not wearing anything remotely appropriate for such a—”

“Don’t worry so much about appearances, lad. Here,” Lewis said, shoving the basket at Elliott. “We’re starting the egg hunt at noon sharp!”

On his other side, Harvey perked up. “Aha! How about Summer 9?” 

“Great,” Elliott growled at Lewis, suddenly clutching a basket close to his chest. As the mayor headed back to the center of the square, he turned back to Harvey and opened his mouth to resume his other argument.

“Fantastic! I will see you at ten, sharp.” 

“I—you—wait—” 

It was too late, Harvey had stuck the little appointment book back into his pocket and was already walking away, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Elliott snapped his mouth shut again, blinking in disbelief.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Where the hell is he?” Abby muttered, pacing in front of Sam as they watched townsfolk gathering for the egg hunt from near the buffet tables.

Sam sighed as he watched her purple hair bounce back and forth, held up in a ponytail today instead of loose. He pulled out his phone for the millionth time that morning—nothing. Sebastian was still dead to the world. Asleep.

_Or ignoring you._

“It’s not even ten. What, is he your good luck charm?”

Abby turned and scowled up at Sam, elbowing him in the side. “It’s just weird without him sulking around in the shadows complaining.”

“I’d sulk around too if I were at a festival where I couldn’t even _eat_ anything,” Sam said with a sniffle, scooping up another deviled egg off the buffet table. He’d taken an allergy pill this morning, and his nose would still not stop running.

“He’s been weird this spring.” 

It was a statement, not a question. Sam shifted his weight as he chewed. Abby wasn’t _wrong_ , but it had been a weird spring in general. She fiddled with her hair, watching the side of the square that exited to the path north like Sebastian would appear at any moment. Nothing. With an exasperated huff, she turned to the punchbowl and ladled out a glass for herself.

Sam’s brow creased as he thought back over the past two weeks. Sebastian had been flighty and annoyed at the tiniest things, and to Sam it was as clear as day that there was something he was locking down inside. Something that had him smoking more and talking even less than normal. Something that had to be deeper than his frustration over this most recent project. It reminded him of when Sebastian had first come back home from his single semester of college in the city. Was Demetrius getting on his case again? Or was it something to do with his father? That was a chilling thought—Sam knew the effects of that hole in Sebastian’s life better than anyone else in town. The silence he put up with every time Sebastian tried to work out _that_ mysterious puzzle was harder to deal with than Sam let on.

“I know he hates this time of year,” Abby went on as Sam pulled her by the elbow south across the square to their usual egg festival hangout behind Emily’s house, farther away from prying ears. “But he’s hardly come out of his room. He’s pulled back even further under that dark little rain cloud of his and I hate it. Do you know what was up with him during our Solarion session last week? I couldn’t get anything but bullshit out of him later.”

The image of Sebastian upside down in Sam’s lap flashed across his mind, lingering on the startled dark eyes that he couldn’t help brushing hair out of. It wasn’t often Sam saw those eyes so wide and so close. A flash of vulnerability cutting through the mask.

“That was my fault. I said the wrong thing, I think,” Sam admitted after swallowing.

“What in Yoba’s ass could you have said that was that awful?” Abby leaned in to his side, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“I tried to… ugh, we were talking about the band and I brought up him singing.”

“Wait, are we still talking about the same person? Sebastian can sing?”

“Not if you ask him.”

“And you had the balls to argue?” Abby pulled back, rolling her eyes. “No wonder he was annoyed.”

It had been a mistake, bringing up the stupid karaoke night from several years ago. Sam hadn’t thought it was that bad—until the run-in with the planter on the walk back to his dorm room it had looked like Sebastian was having _fun_ for once in his life—but apparently he was wrong. Anything that ended up with Sebastian flustered and sputtering and lighting another stupid cancer stick was definitely a mistake. Gods, he was making an awful lot of mistakes, lately.

Sam’s heart sunk as he pondered a new question, one hand reflexively rubbing at the back of his neck as he looked down at his shoes.

“Abby? Is he… do you think he’s mad at me?” 

Abby turned on him as she sipped her punch. “What? Why would he still be mad at you for whatever shit you said last week?”

“I mean, not just mad, but like… _really_ mad,” Sam whined. “He was legit busy, and Wednesday… I interrupted him.” Abby’s brow furrowed, and Sam scuffed a foot on the ground. 

“You know you can bother me if Seb’s busy, right?”

“I know, Abs, but I was… I knew he would be up and it was really really late. Nightmares,” he offered as explanation. If it had been a mistake to need someone so badly when he felt so small and terrified and empty, it was one he couldn’t help but make. 

“About what you told me last night? Oh _Sammy_ ,” Abby said, pulling him into a hug. Sam sighed as her arms wrapped around his waist, comforting and warm. It was a good thing her cup was mostly empty; his mother would be pissed if Sam came home with his jacket stained a sticky pink. “Sam, he can’t be mad at you for that. Not for long, anyway. You know how he gets when he’s working. He’ll forget about it as soon as he comes down off this project high.”

“I hope you’re right.” Sam squeezed her tight, breathing deeply. Lavender and vanilla, like always.

“You both need to stop sniffing my hair, though,” she laughed, poking Sam in the side, right in the spot that she knew would make him squeak and dance away.

“Huh?” 

“Never mind. Look, we’re going to go crash his pity party after the egg hunt if he doesn’t show up,” Abby said, pacing again. “I can’t take it when he hides like this.”

“Who’s hiding?” asked a soft voice behind them. 

“Sebastian,” chorused Sam and Abby at the same time, turning to see who it was. Penny chuckled and smiled up at Sam with bright eyes.

“Of course. I thought maybe you meant Elliott. I haven’t seen him out much, this week.”

“Nah, he’s just lurking, not hiding,” Abby said, scanning the crowd again. “I swear I saw him earlier. It’s hard to miss someone who looks like they stepped off the cover of an old romance novel.”

“Over there,” Sam said, nodding his head towards the other side of the square, where someone in a distinctive red jacket was standing, long copper hair shimmering in the sun.

“Is he… shit, is he doing the egg hunt?” Abby whispered when she saw the basket in Elliott’s hand.

“You could use someone new to tackle into a bush,” Sam snarked, dancing away as she tried to elbow him. 

“First off, we were like, ten. Also, you interrupted my route, and you deserved it,” she scoffed. “Ugh, screw this waiting around shit, I’m going to get more punch.”

Abby took off towards the buffet tables at a trot, purple hair bouncing. Penny giggled into her hand as Sam laid an arm across her shoulders and pulled her in for a squeeze. “You going to join us this year, Pen?”

“No, I’ll just watch Jas and Vince. With the undisputed egg hunt queen in the running, I don’t want to get in the way of their fun.” She paused, fingers touching Sam’s arm lightly. “How are you doing?”

“Besides feeling like my head is going to explode?” Sam sniffed dramatically. “Just look at all that food! I’m great.”

“Sam,” Penny started, saying his name with more than a hint of her tell-me-now teacher voice.

A glance across the square showed Vincent thoroughly engrossed in chasing Jas around and Sam’s mother busy talking to a bright blue head of hair that could only be Emily. Reluctantly, Sam turned Penny towards him and looked down at the sweet, pale face with freckled cheeks and bright green eyes that gazed up and into and straight through his heart. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about, and she was going to wheedle it out of him regardless.

“Please tell me what’s going on, Sam,” she whispered, brow furrowing when Sam didn’t answer right away. “Especially if it’s something that will help me understand what Vince is going through.”

For Vincent. Of course. It was all for Vincent. Sam looked away, rubbing the back of his neck; rubbing at the dirty feeling creeping over his skin for wanting to think about himself, instead.

“Pen, you know how vague they are in official letters, yeah?” 

“…yeah?”

He had said the words to Sebastian after that awful nightmare— _missing_ , first; _prison camp_ , at some point as he fell apart; _it’s not fair_ , over and over again—and he had bit his lip through telling Abby an abbreviated version over a half-hearted game of pool on Friday after she swore she wouldn’t tell anyone else, but Sam couldn’t get those words out again, now. Instead, he looked back at Penny and set his shaking hands on her shoulders.

“There’s nothing we can tell Vince right now. We… we don’t know what’s going on.”

Penny paled even further, despite the sunny day. Sam hoped he’d gotten his point across, but he didn’t get the chance to ask before Abby returned, full glass of punch in hand.

“I don’t care how old he is, I will absolutely tackle him if he gets in my way,” she growled.

Sam let go of Penny’s shoulders, his attention turning back towards the center of the square. Elliott approached Lewis, pressing the basket back into the Mayor’s startled arms, and fled towards the buffet tables with his hands shoved in his pockets. Apparently Sebastian wasn’t the only Pelican Town resident with their own gloomy little rain cloud following them around. Abby let out a little sigh of relief.

“I wonder what’s bothering him,” Penny sighed. 

“Sand in his shoes, probably. Hey Pen, should I grow my hair out?” Sam asked with a hum, trying to keep conversation from drifting back towards unpleasant things. 

“You already spend too much time on your hair,” Abby snarked, sipping on her drink. “Guys, this punch is way better than usual.”

“I didn’t ask _you_ ,” Sam said, sticking his tongue out.

“You don’t need to change a thing,” Penny giggled, smiling at him again. “I like your hair just how it is.” 

Sam shrugged and returned her smile, one hand reaching up to feel how his hair gel was holding up in the warm sunshine. “Well, at least one person does.”

“Penny! Guys!” called a voice from across the square. Maru dodged Marnie and paused to nod at Leah before she reached the three of them.

“Maru! I was beginning to wonder where you were,” Penny said, her pale arms a stark contrast to Maru’s darker skin as they hugged.

“We had to wait for _someone_ to get his rear end out of the basement,” she said with a snort. Sam exchanged a glance with Abby. “How do you guys get Sebastian to do anything?” Maru asked.

“With a crowbar,” Abby cackled, finishing her punch. “I need more of this, it’s _really_ good.”

“…did you seriously wake him up?” Sam asked, checking his phone for new messages. Still nothing.

“All he does is sleep,” Maru muttered, watching Abby trot back to the punch bowl. “What’s wrong with dragging him down here? It’s a festival.”

Sam shook his head, looking around the square for a distinctive dark head of hair. “He’s been working all week. Day and night.”

“On what?” Penny asked. “He does computer stuff, right?”

“Yeah, programming and coding and shit. This project is a big deal.” Sam looked back at Maru, trying not to glare. “He said… he was set back big time by a power outage.” Given how Maru’s eyebrows shot up and she tried to edge behind Penny, his attempt not to glare wasn’t working.

“Oh snap,” Maru squeaked. Penny turned to pat her shoulder and whispered something in Maru’s ear.

“I can’t believe… look, I haven’t heard from him since, like, Thursday night,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “If Seb’s not even talking to me, he _needs_ to sleep for a week, not be forced to come to this mess.”

“Well, if he would _tell us_ things instead of just hiding away down there, maybe we would know when to leave him alone,” Maru shot back, adjusting her glasses. “I’m not a mind reader, Sam.” 

Sam sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around again. There—a glimpse of something dark disappearing around the bushes south of the saloon.

“Shit. Someone needs to make sure he’s not going to sleepwalk into the river or something,” Sam muttered, trying to wipe the scowl off his face as he headed across the square. Penny called after him, worry evident in her soft voice, but he was in too much of a hurry to respond. In such a hurry, in fact, that he nearly ran into Elliott again—the writer looked to be escaping back to the beach with a plate full of food and refused to make eye contact.

Sam finally caught up with the flash of black hair he’d seen as he rounded the corner of the little cemetery at the south of town.

“Seb! Seb, wait—”

Sebastian’s hunched shoulders dropped with a sigh Sam could almost feel, but his friend slowed to a halt next to the fence. Sam paused, a few steps behind Sebastian. The sinking feeling was back, the crawling guilt that maybe his best friend was mad. Maybe he hadn’t finished the project and it was all Sam’s fault. Maybe Sam was still making things awkward and Sebastian wanted him to go away.

“Did you finish it?” Sam asked, taking another step forward and tilting his head.

Sebastian turned slowly, hair flopped in front of his eyes, and Sam found himself itching to brush it away again. Anything that would make it easier to search his face for a hint of the answer. 

“It was close.” Sebastian bit his lip. “But... yeah. I meant to say something, I just—”

“Crashed,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Whatever, dude, I’m just glad you finished it. Really.” He grinned at Sebastian, and was rewarded with the faintest of smiles in return.

_Don’t be awkward. Don’t bring it up. Don’t—_

“Seb? Are you—”

A whistle blowing in the distance cut Sam off. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him, smile quickly replaced by an impish smirk.

“Go beat Abby for me,” Sebastian said, voice rough around the edges with disuse. He probably hadn’t spoken more than five words at a time since Wednesday night. “She deserves it for calling me a fucking softie. I’m gonna hide on the beach until this shit is over,” he went on, waving a hand towards the center of town. “But you saw I was here, so mum can't bitch at me for not showing up.”

“Bold of you to think she'll believe me,” Sam said, grinning as he shrugged.

“You’re an awful liar, man.” 

Sam snorted. “And yet, no one believes a word out of my mouth.”

“That’s not true.” Sebastian’s eyes flicked away nervously and Sam heard him take a deep breath as he brushed black hair behind one ear. “See you guys for Solarion later, yeah?”

“Hell yeah!” 

Sam hadn’t realized just how tense he had been all morning until the moment his shoulders relaxed, freed of some invisible weight by the near-imperceptible widening of Sebastian’s smirk. There was nothing else in the world that could have convinced him that his best friend wasn’t mad at him as quickly and completely as that genuine little smile. He started to turn away and head back to the town square for the start of Abby’s thirteenth year of crushing everyone at the egg hunt, when something made him pause; Sebastian, still watching him. Sebastian, eyes narrowing when Sam looked back.

“You good?”

There were so many ways Sam could answer that simple question, and they all flew through his head at the same time.

“I am now,” was the one that came out as he turned and sprinted back towards where Abby and the rest were waiting.

  
  


* * *

The beach was empty.

Sebastian kicked his way through the sand, heading for the dock out past the tide pools. Everyone else was at the ridiculous festival, eating food he couldn’t touch and watching Abby destroy the competition yet again—never mind that her competition only ever consisted of two kids and Sam, unless Maru was talked into joining them again. How Sam had managed to spot him sneaking through town was a mystery. It was almost like he’d been watching for Sebastian all morning, just to make sure he was still alive. 

_He probably was._

Sebastian’s stomach flipped for a moment. It shouldn’t have; Sam was always watching for him, and for Abby, too. Sebastian did the same thing. It was second-nature to look for his best friends when he bothered to come to town, _especially_ for something like a shitty festival he was allergic to. Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t responded to either of their texts or messages since Thursday afternoon. It was a dick move, but continuing to ignore his friends was easier than trying to figure out what to say.

Sam had looked tired, with dark circles under eyes that lacked a bit of their usual spark. Sebastian hadn’t slept much that week, but what sleep he managed was deep. Sam clearly hadn’t slept much or well, since…

He had to thank whatever spirits were around, should they exist, for cutting Sam off halfway through whatever question he had tried to ask. Sebastian didn’t want to talk about the aftermath of Sam’s nightmare—especially if he had to suffer through Sam apologizing another fifty times. Talking about it meant thinking about Sam shuddering in his arms, about pulling his best friend closer and closer, about burying his nose in stiff golden hair that smelled faintly of citrus and strongly of Sam’s off-brand gel. Talking about it meant Sam was thinking about it, too, and _that_ was something Sebastian couldn’t handle thinking about.

Heart sinking like his feet as they slipped through the sand, Sebastian breathed in the damp, salty air. If Sam could just let it go, things would be fine. If Sebastian could just hold this in, let it fade away like every other feeling he had encountered for another living, breathing, thinking person over the years, he would be fine.

_I’m fine._

Almost to the slowly-rotting planks that spanned the river, Sebastian shoved a hand in his hoodie pocket, searching for his cigarettes. He flicked one out of the carton and stuck it between his lips as his other hand reached for the lighter slipped in his back pocket. It came up empty. 

“Yoba’s thrice-damned slime-spawn in a blender, _what_ did I do to deserve this day?” Sebastian spat. He patted down the rest of his pockets, growling additional curses under his breath. Given his foggy state of mind after being startled awake by his mother and hustled out of the house because they were going to be late, his lighter was probably sitting on his desk. Or dropped on the floor somewhere as he’d pulled on the first pair of black jeans he could find. Sebastian’s inability to make his own decisions about attending community events while living under that roof was going to drive him insane.

“Fucking _hate_ spring,” Sebastian muttered around the unlit cigarette, kicking up a spray of sand into the water. Bits of it peppered the tide pools on the other side. Of course he couldn’t even catch a few minutes of peace with a smoke. He would have to walk all the way back home, back to his dungeon of a room, where the timestamp of the email he sent to the project manager would still be up on his computer, mocking him. 6:03—over an hour late. He had nearly thrown his phone across the room when Sam had texted him at five, but he didn’t have the money to replace it and still pay rent.

It wasn’t Sam’s fault. It wasn’t even Maru’s fault, really. Sebastian only had himself to blame, just like with anything else he messed up.

“May I ask why?”

Sebastian froze, cigarette nearly falling to the sand as he drew in a surprised breath. The beach wasn’t empty. 

The voice wasn’t one he recognized, and that coupled with Sam dropping the fact that the beach cabin was now inhabited dramatically narrowed down the options of who it was. Footsteps in the sand to his left pulled Sebastian’s gaze over, even though the last thing he wanted to do was look up. He settled for staring at brown dress shoes—dress shoes on a beach?—and the sand-covered green slacks that stopped several paces away. 

“Just… I’m not too big on festivals,” he said sourly, pulling the cigarette out from between his lips. 

There was a chuckle and a sigh. “Dreadful noise, ceaseless commotion, and an insufferable amount of social interaction. Why do you think I left?” The voice was low, with a slightly musical cadence to it. Unusual. Enchanting.

“Well. I won’t bother you, then.” Sebastian toyed with the cigarette in his hand, rolling it between his fingers before pulling the carton out of his pocket and flicking open the lid.

“Don’t put that away on my behalf. If your creative phrasing is an accurate reflection of your mood, it seems you’re in dire need of a break.” 

Sebastian finally allowed himself a glance up, away from the shoes. He’d never been this close to the newcomer. Elliott was lacking the disgustingly dapper jacket for once, but he still sported the green tie over his white button-down. The sleeves had been rolled up past his elbows, and his hands stayed tucked in his pockets. Brilliant copper hair, even longer than Sebastian had first thought, drifted slightly in the breeze and framed a wary pair of emerald eyes. It was a truly striking combination, despite the odd frown that turned one corner of Elliott’s mouth down towards his sharp jawline.

“In fact,” Elliott said, looking away and fidgeting with something in one pocket, “If I may bother you instead…”

Sebastian found himself tensing as Elliott looked back at him, seeming hesitant as he combed hair over his shoulder and tried to untangle the tips with the fingers of one hand. Despite the flowery language, the pretentious city slicker attitude that Sebastian had expected was, unexpectedly, nowhere to be found. 

“Could you, perchance, spare one of those?”

“One of…” it took Sebastian’s brain a few moments to compute the request. “You smoke? Really?”

“I—never mind.” Elliott’s face fell, eyes downcast as he turned back towards the little cabin on the beach. “Forget I asked. Please, enjoy the silence.” 

Sebastian frowned, watching the long hair starting to retreat. He could let Elliott walk away. It would certainly reinforce the shitty first impressions the writer had probably made of him by now, always catching Sebastian arguing with family. Something about this felt different, though. Running into Elliott on a quiet beach, alone except for the crabs and gulls and crashing waves, Sebastian was having trouble convincing himself he wasn’t curious about who this stranger was, and why he had come to Pelican Town.

“You gotta light?” Sebastian asked, curiosity getting the better of his anxiety.

Elliott paused, shifting his weight. He was silent for a moment, finally glancing back over his shoulder and pulling something out of his pocket. 

“Always.”

With a strange sigh, Elliott waved Sebastian towards a bench beside the cabin, hidden from view of the majority of the beach. It was probably where the man had been sitting when Sebastian had started taking his anger out on the sand—there was a half-full plate sitting on one end of the bench.

Sebastian hesitated for a second before giving himself a solid mental kick. It wasn’t a hard decision; he would take having a smoke and suffering through five minutes of awkward chit chat over having to walk all the way back home before he could quiet the whirring of his brain on any day of the week, let alone on such a ridiculously shitty festival day that kept getting worse. He pulled out two smokes as he kicked through the sand, following the fluttering copper hair up the slope.

“You didn’t strike me as the type.”

Long, delicate-looking fingers took one as Elliott settled on to one end of the bench, and he lit it with a smooth, practiced motion, a little puff of smoke escaping his lips before he offered up a shiny silver lighter. 

“I’m not.”

Sebastian took it, not expecting the weight of metal after carrying around cheap plastic lighters for so long, and turned it over in his palm. It wasn’t shiny because it was new—it had the patina of something well-used and touched regularly, with nicks and scratches and a dent in one corner. While nearly rubbed away in spots, Sebastian could still pick out the initials engraved on one side of it: E.S. 

The E was obvious, but something tugged at the back of Sebastian’s mind. Hadn’t the boxes he and Sam found in the square had a different second initial?

“This thing is solid.” He flicked the lid open, thumb striking the waiting mechanism, and watched the flame spark into life. The movement drew Elliott’s eyes up, as well.

“It… has been through a lot,” Elliott said quietly, taking a long drag without a hint of a cough. Sebastian lit his cigarette and followed suit, handing the lighter back as he exhaled. After another drag he settled down on the other end of the bench, already feeling a little less like the world was going to pack up and leave him behind. Beside him, Elliott sat with his elbows on his knees, cigarette held gently in one hand. The other fidgeted with the lighter, running a thumb over the side again and again.

Odd as it was, the nervous movement next to him was soothing to watch, and reminded Sebastian, just a little, of Sam’s constant need for motion. His shoulders relaxed a little further when he realized Elliott wasn’t going to press him with small talk. To Sebastian’s surprise, a piece of his cold, wary, disinterested facade started to crack open as they sat together in the sunshine, listening to the waves crashing on the shore. He snuck a look at the man on the other end of the bench; Elliott looked lost in thought, a frown still on his lips.

“So,” Sebastian started, breaking the smoky silence and flicking ash into the sand. There were so many questions floating around in his mind, and he could only choose one of them to say. “Out of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?”

The frown deepened into a scowl as Elliott’s chin rose, and dark emerald eyes flashed in the light as he turned and caught Sebastian watching. Sebastian swallowed and looked down at his shoes, busying himself with the cigarette in his fingers.

“Not a choice,” Elliott retorted before taking a drag of his own.

“What, you’re on the run?” There was a pause filled only with the hiss of waves and the calling gulls and Sebastian’s panicked brain wondering how much more of an ass he could possibly be. To his surprise and relief, Elliott laughed as he exhaled. 

Sebastian avoided the word _pretty_ on principle when it came to men—and women, because Abby had nearly punched him when he made the mistake of saying it in her presence—but it was the only word that seemed to fit Elliott as he sat up and ran one hand through his hair, sending shimmering copper locks cascading over his shoulder. The movement drew Sebastian’s attention, and he watched it fall and flutter in the breeze, transfixed. When their eyes met again, a soft smile had crept across Elliott’s lips, tugging at sun-blushed cheeks.

Breathing was important, Sebastian reminded himself. He looked down at the bench, weathered slats of wood a dusty gray-brown underneath the hand he set down next to his thigh, seeking some sort of grounding touch. “I didn’t mean—I’m—”

“Don’t apologize, Sebastian,” Elliott chuckled. A hint of sadness tinted his voice when he spoke again. “There is very little that makes me laugh, and I was not expecting to find something, today.”

Sebastian frowned, startled by Elliott’s use of his name even though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. He gave a quick shake of his head, dislodging his bangs and combing through them nervously. Perhaps he could hide behind his own curtain of hair. “Still not sure why that’s funny.”

“I am only on the run from the past,” the other man sighed, the smile fading as he looked back out at the ocean. “This was… not a _choice_ so much as the last opportunity for a fresh start. And yet…”

Elliott fell silent, cigarette still in his fingers as he stared into the distance. Running had always been in the back of Sebastian’s mind, but he couldn’t imagine coming to a place like Stardew Valley for a fresh start. He would be gone in a heartbeat if he thought he could survive the city alone, but he had more proof to the contrary than he could handle.

An insistent buzzing in Sebatian’s pocket brought him back to reality again, and he pulled out his phone.

> Sam-Sam
> 
> seb get over here stat abs just lost & she is SO MAD
> 
> Sat 12:23
> 
> wtf was in the punch this year
> 
> Sat 12:23
> 
> rum, and she had 3 glasses HELP
> 
> Sat 12:24

“Oh gods,” Sebastian groaned, pulling hard on the cigarette as he stared at Sam’s messages. He stood and rubbed the ember out on the bench before tucking the butt back into the carton to deal with later. Elliott was watching him, one eyebrow raised. “I, uh. Sorry to split, but I gotta go find Sam and see who Abby tackled into a bush this time.”

The other eyebrow joined the first near Elliott’s hairline. “…this is a regular occurrence?”

“Don’t get in her way,” Sebastian warned, a little grin sneaking across his face. “She doesn’t hold back.” He turned, taking one more deep breath of ocean air to prepare himself for whatever insanity waited for him in town.

“An enviable trait.” Sebastian could hear the bench creak as the other man stood. “Though bound to get one in trouble, eventually.”

“More like get us all in trouble,” Sebastian muttered, a blush burning his cheeks as he thought about the purple-haired whirlwind that had been dragging him and Sam up and down the valley on adventures for years. Memories of the two chasing each other through the fields of the abandoned farm while Sebastian watched from his perch on the fence bubbled to the forefront of his mind—Abby’s exuberant laugh, Sam’s eyes shining with unabashed joy, and Sebastian humming under his breath and aching for the courage to give up his self-imposed restraint.

Elliott hummed from behind him. “Then again, holding back can be troublesome, as well.”

Sebastian whirled around and nearly stumbled, not expecting Elliott to be so close. A hand on his shoulder was the only thing that kept him upright and not faced with cleaning sand out of all his clothes and crevices, instead of just his shoes. Elliott was tall—taller than Sebastian expected—and he found himself forced to look up slightly to catch the concerned look on the writer’s face. 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Sebastian huffed, cheeks burning even hotter.

“Call it personal experience.” Elliott shook his head, wisps of copper hair floating across his face as he let go of Sebastian’s shoulder. “Your generosity is appreciated, Sebastian,” he said, gesturing with the cigarette butt. “As is your company. Should you find yourself without a lighter again…”

Retreating towards the cabin without finishing the thought, Elliott let himself inside and closed the door again without so much as a glance back at Sebastian. He couldn’t move; the beach beneath his feet had turned to quicksand and was holding him fast.

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

The question repeated itself, bouncing around in Sebastian’s mind and finding no purchase on an answer. He tore his eyes away from the cabin and his feet from the sand, high-tailing it into town before Sam resorted to actually calling him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been super hyped to post this chapter! Fun fact: the very first draft of WMF began on the egg festival--it wasn't until later that I realized I wanted to start at the beginning of the year instead--and basically the only thing that is the same in the two versions is Sebastian and Elliott smoking together.
> 
> Sadly, I haven't been making as much forward progress as I had hoped since I began posting WMF, so I'm dropping down to 1x week updates. Will keep them on wednesdays unless I hear that saturdays are better!
> 
> Next up, a friday afternoon at the saloon... will Sebastian have heard back about the job, yet? Has Elliott gotten any better about leaving the house? Can Sam win a game of pool? Okay, that last one is a firm no, but we'll see about the others!


	8. Spring 19 - Never been more ready to move on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been nearly a week since the egg festival, and it's Friday. You know what that means-- pool night at the saloon, with a side of trying to avoid conversations about the upcoming flower dance.

—Spring 19—

“—an’ then you cast, like this—”

Elliott gripped the plain-looking bamboo fishing pole tightly, fingers turning white at the tips as he watched Willy demonstrate with a different rod. Casting was one smooth motion, pulling back and then flicking the line far out into the deep blue of the water off the side of the dock.

“And then?” Elliott prompted as the old fisherman lapsed into silence. 

Willy stared out at the ocean with a contented little smile on his face and shrugged. “Then you wait,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps it was. Elliott wouldn’t know; despite the summers spent at his grandmother’s beach house, he highly preferred reading on the porch to pursuits such as fishing.

When it became clear he wasn’t going to get more of an answer than that, Elliott reluctantly turned his attention back to the _thing_ in his hands. It was just a stick with some fishing line and a hook at the end. There was no reason for Elliott to be this intimidated, but the feeling in his stomach reminded him of the first time he had been handed a pool cue and he’d made a complete and utter fool of himself.

He eyed the bare hook warily. Using bait would increase the odds of a bite, the seasoned fisherman had explained. If the smell of the bait sitting in a bucket between the two men standing on the dock hadn’t turned Elliott’s stomach to begin with, the fact that it wiggled slightly when he looked down was doubly off-putting. Thoroughly dissuaded from using bait—and not sure he really _wanted_ to catch something to begin with—Elliott pulled the rod back and attempted to cast his own line. The hook and bobber landed with a small splash, a measly five feet away.

Willy chuckled. ”More practice, son. You’ll get it.” He grinned at Elliott, showing crooked teeth that were normally hidden somewhere beneath his mustache. “Now, when somethin’ tugs at the hook, pull up and back, like—”

As if Willy had coordinated with the fish below for his demonstration, the far bobber dipped under the water and the fisherman yanked sharply on his rod. Elliott glanced between his own bobber and the tip of Willy’s rod, bending slightly with the strain of his catch as he leaned back and reeled the fish in. It was akin to watching a fight in slow motion, or a game of tug of war that had far more serious consequences for one participant than the other. After a few minutes of struggle, Willy hauled up a small herring, and tucked the fishing rod between his legs while he deftly pulled the hook out of the fish’s lip and held it up with a scrutinizing eye.

“For such a fighter, this one’s sure on the scrawny side,” Willy said, sounding amused. To Elliott’s surprise, he gently tossed the herring back in the water.

“I did not realize catch and release was an option,” Elliott said softly, his own bobber forgotten as he watched the old fisherman stretch and begin to pack up.

“Aye, well, a man doesn’t spend a lifetime fishing without learnin’ when t’let a little feller go an’ grow up a bit more.” Willy opened the shop door and tucked his rod and the bait bucket inside. “Have t’ give ‘em a chance to make a few more fishes before we pull ‘em out for good.”

Elliott was about to give up on his own attempt and hand the pole back to Willy when he felt a tug on the line. He nearly dropped the whole thing off the dock and into the shimmering water below, saved only by how tightly he’d been holding it in the first place. 

“Got somethin’?” Willy asked, appearing beside Elliott and peering into the water below.

Whatever it was Elliott had hooked wasn’t giving up much of a fight, unlike Willy’s herring, and it didn’t take long before it broke the surface. All the color drained out of his face when Elliott caught sight of what dangled at the end of the line.

Driftwood. 

“Impressive!” The fisherman barked a short, choppy laugh as he slapped Elliott on the shoulder. “Son, why don’t ya come celebrate yer first day as a fisherman up at the ol’ Stardrop?”

Elliott pursed his lips, trying to pry the hook out of the piece of driftwood without sticking his fingers. “I cannot bring myself to believe _this_ makes me worthy of such a title,” he muttered, turning the piece of wood over in his hand. Well worn by the ocean waves, it was barely longer than his hand, less than two fingers wide, and forked at one end. He tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt and offered the rod back to Willy.

The old man’s hands were tucked in his pockets. “Tis the rod that makes the fisherman, not the catch,” he said, regarding Elliott from underneath the brim of his well-worn cap. “You hang on t’ that. It’ll give ya somethin’ t’ do when ya get bored of that shack. Hardly see ya set foot outside, son.”

“I… I’ve been… keeping myself busy.” 

It wasn’t entirely a lie, but there was less truth to it than Elliott cared to admit. The unavoidable truth was that he hadn’t written a single word since he’d moved in, and spring was quickly fading. He managed to shrug it off most days, reminding himself it would take time to settle in and find new inspiration, but the excuse was starting to wear thin. 

Willy harrumphed at him as he locked up the door of the fish shop and turned to head up to the beach. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Handling salty fish all day makes me real thirsty, an’ I hear Gus got some coconut in the other day t’ go with the shrimp I took ‘im last night.”

 _That_ was enough to bring Elliott’s wandering attention back to the present, and make his stomach growl imploringly. It had been years since he had experienced properly fresh seafood. Perhaps a visit to the Stardrop saloon was in order. He could investigate the special of the day, find a quiet corner to hide in, and spend a little time soaking up conversation. Nearly a week had passed since his last interaction with any of the townsfolk with the sole exception of Pierre, when he stopped in for groceries the day after the egg festival, and now Willy, who had pressed the fishing rod into his hands as he stood on the docks this afternoon.

Nearly a week since Sebastian appeared in front of his cabin, both of them having escaped the festivities.

Elliott couldn’t deny their impromptu smoke break had factored heavily into his reluctance to leave the beach. Sebastian had given him plenty to think about after he turned tail and collapsed against the solid wood of the locked cabin door. How Elliott could _laugh_ at an offhand remark that stirred up all the broken memories he was trying to leave behind was beyond comprehension. It had surprised him just as much as it seemed to confuse the young man. Sebastian’s nervous smile and dark eyes had snuck past his defenses, somehow, and Elliott knew it was in his best interest to keep his distance.

And yet… he had left Sebastian with an open invitation as to the use of his lighter, and it took several days for those dark eyes and flushed cheeks to stop haunting him.

Shoving those thoughts aside, Elliott stretched, wincing as his back popped in several places. If he was going to brave the saloon on a Friday night, he had to make sure he looked presentable first. He started down the docks, angling across the beach towards the cabin instead of following Willy.

Robin had done an admirable job on the repair work, given the state the little building had been in when Elliott arrived. Not a single drop of water had worked its way inside since she finished, and the weatherproofing around the door and windows was keeping the ever-present humidity controlled enough that his clothes weren’t damp the moment he put them on. He leaned the fishing rod in the corner by the door and turned to survey his home, watching as the crab scuttled beneath the desk. It was missing something.

Elliott clasped his hands behind his back and paced the already-familiar twelve step length of the cabin. There _was_ just enough space for a piano along the back wall, between his little writing desk with the blank sheaf of paper that mocked his claim of being a writer and the bed that was about three inches too short to be truly comfortable. He missed being able to sit at the keys and pluck at half-remembered melodies when he was lost for words. It gave his hands something else to do while his brain wandered. If he could get the piano back…

A growl left Elliott’s throat, unbidden. His grandmother’s piano was sentimental, but even that sentiment wasn’t worth inviting old friends back into his life. 

_Friends, indeed._

Perhaps he could find a different piano, somewhere; used uprights were relatively cheap. Perhaps he should give up the idea completely; it would be impossible for him to move something like that over sand, by himself. He could take up knitting, instead.

With a reluctant sigh, Elliott grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door and threw it on over his plain white button down shirt, taking a moment to peer into the small mirror sitting atop the dresser and adjust his tie. Green, to match his eyes, which he knew was a quaint conceit. It was something that pleased him, though, and those things were few and far between. He brushed out his hair, pulling it back at the base of his neck with a ribbon for the night, and then reached a hand to the door before he could talk himself out of socializing, yet again.

The sinking feeling in his gut as Elliott glanced back at the room was enough to tell him definitively that the piano wouldn’t help. Even if the empty space along the wall was filled, the one in his heart would remain. This could never be home. It was missing too much.

###

A few minutes later, Elliott walked into the well-lit main room of the Stardrop saloon. Willy waved to him from a table to the right before going back to the conversation he was having with a glum looking man Elliott vaguely recognized as the blacksmith. Behind them, Robin and Demetrius were making an attempt to dance to the lively tune playing on the jukebox, to some degree of success.

“Elliott!” called a voice from behind the bar. “Come in, come in—you look like you could use a beverage,” Gus said with a cheerful smile. Given the number of people in the bar, he had every right to be pleased with how the night was going.

At one end of the bar was an exceedingly disgruntled man standing next to a cheerfully crackling fireplace. His eyes flicked up briefly to meet Elliott’s before returning to stare sulkily at the beer in his hand. At the other was the sour looking woman Elliott was reasonably sure was responsible for spiking the punch at the egg festival. She hiccuped and waved Gus over, holding up an empty glass, as Elliott approached the bar. Between the two extremes sat Pierre, looking as bland as ever. Laughter from another room gave him pause, and he glanced through an open doorway to see Sam and Abigail on a couch in what looked like an arcade room.

Elliott leaned on the high counter near the register as Gus poured another pint. Behind him, the front door opened again, pulling a delicious smell out from the kitchens in a rush of air as someone new entered. 

“Sebastian! The usual?” Gus set the pint down in front of Pam and walked back towards the register. “Hang on Elliott, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Elliott’s heart leapt into his throat as a dark form appeared next to him, leaving a barstool between them as he leaned on the counter as well. A glance to his right revealed Sebastian, tracing a fingertip along the wood grain of the bar top. Despite the music and the various murmured conversations happening around them, an indecipherable silence fell between the two waiting men, like neither wanted to say the first word. Elliott slipped his hands back in his pockets, feeling for his lighter.

“If I recall correctly, you’re not a fan of social interaction.”

Sebastian snorted. “Like you need to interact with anyone to get shitfaced. Just look at Shane.” He nodded towards the man in the blue sweatshirt near the fireplace. Elliott vaguely recognized him as having helped set up tables at the egg festival.

A scraping sound interrupted smoky memories as Gus pushed a mug across the counter, pulling Elliott back into the present. He watched Sebastian’s long, pale fingers gingerly wrap around it, thumbs threaded through the handle. 

“Thanks, Gus.”

“Don’t know how you can drink that at this hour, kid,” Gus said with a shake of his head. “I’d be up all night.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Sebastian smirked. “I’ve got work to do, later.” He raised the steaming mug to his lips for a moment and took a sip, cringing immediately. “Yoba, that’s hot,” he swore, scowl not fading as he looked up at the sound of his name. Sam’s golden head was leaning out of the doorway of the game room.

Sebastian turned away from the counter, eyeing Elliott. “Look, I’m here to destroy Sam at pool, not my liver. Friday night ritual.”

“I… see,” Elliott said as all the color drained from his face. Sebastian’s dark eyes flickered away and back, half-hidden behind the hair falling between them like a shield. One hand left the coffee mug to tuck that curtain of hair back behind one ear, and Elliott found himself making up reasons to be suddenly mesmerized by the wood grain of the bar top.

The young man started to step away, and then paused. “What, d’you play?”

“It is a fascinating game to observe,” Elliott said, mostly to himself. “But I do not—”

“ _Sebastian_ , get over here!”

Elliott looked up in time to catch Sebastian’s eye-roll as he turned, coffee held in front of him like a precious gift from the gods. Sam waved when he caught Elliott watching, then followed Sebastian back into the game room. One long side of the pool table was barely visible from where Elliott stood; no wonder he had missed it when he looked over the first time.

Sebastian set the coffee down to grab a pool cue from the rack on the wall and shook his head violently at something Sam said, pointing back out to the main room for a second before he walked around the table. Abby dissolved in a fit of giggles, hand clapped to her mouth.

Gus chuckled from behind the counter. “They’re good kids,” he said. “Still, hard to remember they’re growing up, sometimes. We’re done with graduation parties in town for a good few years.” 

“Oh?” Elliott said, turning his attention away from the game room. He flinched as the unmistakable crack of a pool ball finding its mark rang through the saloon.

“Maru’s was supposed to be last summer, but that young lady is smart as a whip and skipped a grade, graduating with Abigail and Sam two years ago. Three graduation parties at once was a real challenge, but I do love a challenge if food is involved.”

“…and Sebastian is older, then?” Elliott hazarded, trying not to sound too invested in the answer.

“Oh, Elliott!” Emily wandered out from the kitchens and fixed him with a cheerful smile from behind the bar. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“Sebastian graduated with Emily’s sister… what, five years ago now? That was an easier set of parties,” Gus said with a smirk.

Five years out of high school and Sebastian was still here, paying rent to live in his parent’s basement. Or he was _back_ here—that was more than enough time to go get a degree. Either way, Elliott caught a glimpse of the frustration that had been underlying his question after the egg festival. 

“Because he only agreed to a party at all to get Robin off his back, and they had the sashimi catered in,” Emily whispered conspiratorially across the counter. “Haley’s party made up for it.”

“Yoba bless, I think I made more pink cake for that day than I have in the entire rest of my career.” A bar towel appeared in Gus’s hand, wiping the sweat off his forehead like he was trying to rid himself of the memory.

“Just wait, someday she’ll get _married_ ,” Emily giggled. Gus threw up his hands and retreated to the back of the bar. “Anyway, Elliott—are you going to be at the flower dance next week?” 

“I don’t dance,” he said with an involuntary shudder, hoping Emily’s eyes had been on the register. There was a whoosh of air as the door opened again—at least it was sure not to be Sebastian stepping up to his side unexpectedly, this time.

“Oh come on, it’s not just the dance! There will be food, for one thing. And more of that delicious punch—”

“Elliott?” queried a warm voice from his right.

“If it’s because you don’t have a suit, I can take care of that in a flash,” Emily went on, pursing her lips and looking Elliott over again. “Pants shouldn’t be too hard to come by. I think there’s a pair I can let the hems out on hiding in one of my storage chests…”

“I was beginning to think I’d never meet you.”

Turning away from Emily, the first thing Elliott noticed about the woman standing near the barstool Sebastian had vacated a few minutes before was her height—she was easily the tallest of the women in town, even without the sturdy hiking boots he spied on her feet. Long red hair hung forwards over her shoulder in a tidy braid, though there were shorter sections framing her face that had been tucked behind one ear. In shades perfectly complementing her hair, a fetching green vest was layered over a lighter green short sleeve shirt, and she wore suspenders fixed to paint-spattered gray pants. Elliott saw her glance at Emily, fingers tightening around the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder.

“How is… I’m not interrupting something, am I?” 

“Hey Leah! Elliott was just telling me he’ll be at the flower dance,” Emily said, winking at him.

“That is exceedingly preposterous,” he huffed, cheeks immediately flushing as Emily’s eyes widened. Leah stifled a laugh with the back of her hand. “I… was just about to order whatever dish smells so exquisite and find a quiet table,” Elliott said, looking between the two women.

“Oh! Today’s special!” Emily beamed at him, snapping back into waitress mode. ”Tom Kha soup. Gus has been working on it all day. Anything to drink?”

Elliott hesitated, feeling like the breath had been squeezed from his chest. He despised the thought of drinking alone at a bar yet again. Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t. 

“Is there any of that riesling left from the other week?” Leah asked, lips pursed in thought. “Crisp, not too sweet, notes of stone fruit—maybe a bit of an untraditional pairing, but I think it has potential given the coconut flavors. That is, I mean, if you want—”

“Only if you are amenable to joining my quiet table,” Elliott found himself saying. “Leah, was it?”

Where Emily’s face was an open book, Leah’s was quite the opposite. Still, if this was the other artist he had heard about, Elliott had a feeling he would prefer her company over sitting alone. Anything to take his mind off of the crack of pool balls in the game room was welcome, as long as it didn’t involve conversation about the flower dance.

“That would be delightful,” Leah said, a smile turning up one corner of her lips.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The crack of a clean break shot was one of the only satisfying things left in Sebastian’s world. Two solids hit the pockets and dropped with a thud, one after the other. He allowed himself a little smile, brushing his hair to the side and rounding the table to line up another shot. There was a tempting solid frozen on the rail by a far corner pocket, but there wasn’t any room for error. 

Focused on precisely where he needed to hit the cue ball, Sebastian exhaled, pulling the pool cue back with the kind of confidence instilled by winning every Friday night pool game since they started the tradition over five years ago.

“Seb, I got you more—ah, shit.”

The distraction sent the cue ball wide, missing his ball by a mile and ricocheting off the rail towards the other side of the table. One of Sam’s stripes thudded into the other corner pocket after a glancing hit.

“ _Damnit_ , Abby.” Sebastian glared at her as he straightened up.

Sam snorted from the other end of the table. “Hey, I need all the help I can get. Maybe I can win if you’re distracted enough times.”

Sebastian huffed as he stepped away from the table and leaned against the Joja cola machine, resting the butt of his cue on the top of his foot. Sam walked to one side of the table, then around to the other, a worried look on his face as he considered the cue ball.

“Maybe you could win if you could hit the ball in a straight line,” Abby said, setting a steaming mug of coffee down on the table next to the couch. She kicked off her shoes before sitting down, tucking her feet up under her and sipping on her own ginger ale.

Sam ignored her and finally took his shot, banking it off a rail and somehow missing every single ball on the table. 

“That was perfectly straight—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam glared at the cue ball. He turned ice blue eyes over towards Sebastian and ran a hand up through the short straw-gold hair at the back of his neck. “Go on, do your thing.”

“What, be miserable?” Sebastian muttered. 

“Too late for that,” Abby said from the couch.

He gave Abby a pointed look as he stepped back over to the table. She snapped her mouth shut on whatever snide comment had been about to come out, raising a hand to her lips with a zipping motion.

Sebastian sunk another of his solids then scratched his next shot as a peal of laughter rang out from the main room of the saloon. His patience was wearing out quickly, tonight, and one hand fidgeted with the pack of cigarettes in his pocket as he walked towards the couch. Abby had brought more coffee, at least. He leaned the pool cue against the wall and blew the steam away from his face as he picked it up, not that it did anything to cool the blisteringly hot black liquid.

“Hot damn, I get another shot?” Sam stifled a laugh as Sebastian leveled a burning glare at him over the coffee mug. If Sam was still worried about the lack of news from his father, he was hiding it well.

“Man, what’s got you off your game tonight?” Abby joked, nudging him in the shin with one foot. “The stupidest festival in the world isn’t for another five days.”

“You dancing this year, Abs?” Sam asked. As if they all didn’t know the answer.

Abby groaned. “What _proper young woman_ wouldn’t participate in the flower dance, Sam?”

“What proper young woman ends up face-down in a garbage can during an egg hunt?” Sebastian said, almost wishing he’d been there to witness it. He had gotten to the scene of chaos just in time to help pick up the pieces—literally.

“Not my fucking fault,” she said, kicking Sebastian harder. “And don’t even think about making up some shitty excuse to not be there, Seb. If I’m dancing, so are you.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and blew on the coffee again. The mug was almost too hot beneath his fingers—painful and comforting at the same time.

“We could all go on strike,” Sebastian suggested, drawing a disbelieving laugh from Abby and a chuckle from Sam. They had tried it before, and it never seemed to work. “Look, it’s nothing big, just work stuff.”

“Could you be any more vague?” asked Sam, aiming carefully. He managed to get a stripe in the side pocket, cringing as the cue ball flew in after it. 

Sebastian sighed, setting the coffee back down before managing a single drink. Thankfully, fishing the cue ball back out and deciding where to place it on the table gave him something to think about besides said work stuff, and he took his next shot in smoldering silence. Another solid flew into the far corner pocket. It wasn’t long before he was lining up the 8-ball.

“Got an email, today.” He caught sight of Sam’s brow furrowing before leaning back over the table. One last shot.

“Wait, are you talking about the job from last week?” Abby asked, coming around the side of the table to watch him. She fidgeted with her hair, nervously wrapping a deep purple lock around one finger. “Sebby! Did you—”

Sam inhaled sharply and started talking over her, two strings of _when_ and _what_ merging in his head and tangling there. Sebastian exhaled slowly in a futile attempt to control his pulse, rubbing a hand over his face as he waited for them to stop.

As soon as silence descended over the table again, the 8-ball careened into a far corner pocket. His winning streak continued. Sebastian turned to slouch against the side of the table with a heavy sigh.

“No.”

The string of curses Abby rattled off was impressive, but Sebastian was more concerned with the silence from the other side of the room. He glanced over—Sam had gone pale, and looked as though he was about to snap the pool cue in half with how tightly his fingers wrapped around it, tips gone white like when they had tangled in Sebastian’s sweatshirt. The pained look on his face shook Sebastian to the core.

“It’s not all bad,” he started, recalling the message that had burned itself into his mind that morning. “They said it was good work. I’m on top of the list if another position opens up.”

Abby leaned against the table next to him, resting her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “Better than nothing.” Her arm curled around Sebastian’s waist, squeezing his side gently. Sebastian swallowed hard as he caught a whiff of vanilla.

“It’s… it’s not because you ran up against the deadline, is it?” Sam asked, coming around the pool table as well and stopping next to Sebastian’s other side. 

Sebastian stared at the dusty floor underneath the Joja Cola machine. He was, they had written, on top of their list _despite_ being their last submission. _Despite_ not having a degree. It should have made Sebastian feel good about the skills he had taught himself and honed over the past three years. It should have been encouraging.

“It’s not your fault,” he grumbled, feeling Sam settle against the table on his other side. His shoulder was warm even through the thickness of the denim jacket he never took off and Sebastian’s sweatshirt combined. Sebastian tried to fight down the blush he could feel creeping up his neck as Sam draped an arm over his shoulders. “Look, It’s always going to be stiff competition when I don’t have a fucking fancy piece of paper to wave around.”

Abby was so close, and Sam so warm, and for once in his life, Sebastian’s gut instinct was to pull them both closer and accept the comfort he knew he didn’t deserve. Instead, his fingers closed tighter around the pool cue still in his hands.

“You could go back,” Abby said, a quiet urging from somewhere near his shoulder. “If I get into U of Z, I mean. We could split a place in the city and—”

“ _No_ ,” Sebastian snapped, breaking away from his friends so suddenly Abby fell into Sam’s side with a surprised squawk. He walked over to lean against the Junimo Cart machine and crossed his arms, staring at a flash of copper hair near the bar. His shoulders were still warm, and he could feel the ghost of a hand on his side, but Sebastian’s stomach felt like one giant knot. Any thought of comfort had been pushed aside by the rush of panic that had flashed up like a wildfire at the mere thought of going back to finish his degree. There were no words strong enough to adequately explain the true extent of just how terribly Sebastian’s attempt at college had gone. 

“But, Sebby,” Abby started, voice plaintive as she stepped towards him. Sebastian saw Sam shaking his head out of the corner of his eye. “If you weren’t there all by yourself, maybe—”

“And have to listen to Demetrius rubbing it in my face that he was right?” Sebastian hissed, trying to keep his voice down in case his step-father was still in the other room. He peeled his eyes away from Elliott, hoping the writer hadn’t noticed his lingering gaze, and fixed his friends with a glare. “Over my dead body.”

“Seb doesn’t need a fancy piece of paper,” Sam said, pulling Abby back by the wrist. Abby’s hard blue-green eyes and stubborn scowl made sense, but there was a zoned-out frown on Sam’s face as well that Sebastian didn’t understand. 

To his credit, Sam had stopped saying anything about his decision to quit after he’d accidentally witnessed the worst fight Sebastian had with Demetrius to this day. It figured the _scientist_ would feel strongly about fancy pieces of paper—and about having paid for a year of classes with no tangible result. For some reason Sebastian still couldn’t fathom, his mother had come to his defense on that argument. It wasn’t until she had pulled Demetrius away that Sebastian noticed Sam making a valiant effort to blend in with the jackets on the coat rack.

Sam being there to talk him down out of the resulting meltdown was the only thing that kept Sebastian from disappearing into the night on his bike, testing just how far away from the valley a tank of gas would get him. Well, Sam, and the burning embarrassment he could feel at the mere prospect of having to call someone to come pick him up when the tank hit empty.

“Are we gonna play again or not?” Sam called from next to the table. His hands were clasped behind his head, tilting his chin up in a way that accentuated his slightly squared jaw as he watched the ceiling of the game room like it was the most interesting thing in the entire Republic. One elbow stuck out of a new tear in his jean jacket. Sebastian wasn’t sure how it hadn’t disintegrated, yet—he remembered when it was brand new and stiff, not patched all over and frayed at the cuffs—but he could hardly imagine seeing Sam without it, anymore.

It was still early enough for a third game. Steadying himself with a deep breath, Sebastian pushed away from the arcade machine and circled the pool table as Sam racked the balls again. If he could just survive this, he could leave, running away into the night with a smoke to settle his nerves. There was no hiding the tremble in his fingers as he set one hand on the rail and raised his cue. A chorus of laughter from the other room snapped Sebastian’s concentration entirely, and he straightened up with a heavy sigh that came out closer to a growl than he intended.

“Sebastian? Are you okay?” Abby stepped towards him. Sam’s brow furrowed as he looked across the table. Sebastian bristled at the question, an old defensive spark of anger flashing into life again. The last thing he wanted was for them to start asking questions and worrying about him. He wasn’t worth worrying about. 

_I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m—_

“Here,” he said, shoving the cue at Abby and stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket, desperate for a cigarette. “You beat him, little bee. I can’t take this noise for another second.” He ignored Sam’s sputtered protests and Abby’s shocked expression as he headed for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-bad news, friends-- I've been distracted by other projects and I'm out of a buffer. Hopefully I can keep to every week-ish updates, but I hope y'all think it's worth sticking around even if I flop at that.
> 
> Coming next! The Flower Dance. Will Abby finally manage to get out of dancing? Will anyone convince Elliott to attend? What shenanigans will happen (you KNOW there will be shenanigans)? Stay tuned!


	9. Spring 20-23 - Play me a tune, make it a waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A variety of notes, texts, and chat conversations as the townsfolk prepare for the upcoming Flower Dance!
> 
> EDIT: changed the last section on 1/1/21! Was a little rushed when I posted this bit and it hopefully reads more true to character now.

**—Spring 20—**

> Elliott—
> 
> Thank you again for your company at the saloon the other night, and for the beautiful piece of driftwood. I’m sorry to bring up the flower dance again, but you left before I could ask—I missed the event last year, and would like to go, but standing awkwardly by myself is just as intimidating as dancing with any of the other townsfolk. Would it be too much to suggest we go and not dance, together?
> 
> —Leah
> 
> P.s. I can repay the favor with a bottle of wine, if that sways your decision.

* * *

> _@littlbee (online)_
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 2:34 PM
> 
> I’m going to get out of dancing this year, isty
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:36 PM
> 
> mmhm. good luck w/that
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 2:36 PM
> 
> I have a Plan
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:36 PM
> 
> if it involves seb twisting an ankle again its not a good plan
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 2:36 PM
> 
> You guys are no fun
> 
> But that’s not the Plan
> 
> The egg festival gave me an idea
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:37 PM
> 
> what, hope pam spikes the punch again?
> 
> doc was pissed
> 
> hes not gonna let that happen twice
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 2:38 PM
> 
> No! But it does involve punch
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:38 PM
> 
> well as long as it doesn’t involve more community service hours…
> 
> go on, spill
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 2:38 PM
> 
> Exactly
> 
> Wait is seb still there?
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:38 PM
> 
> well he’s outside killing himself slowly
> 
> but yea we just finished rocking out
> 
> u going to join us for practice next wk?
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 2:39 PM
> 
> If I can ever get dad to stop making me stock shelves on saturday mornings…
> 
> I’ll tell you on the way back from solarion, then
> 
> since I know it’s hard for you to keep your mouth shut
> 
> You can’t tell sebby ANYTHING or it’ll ruin the Plan
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:40 PM
> 
> what?? y not/?
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:40 PM
> 
> i don’t like keeping secrets abs
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 2:40 PM
> 
> Too bad. sebby needs to be our innocent bystander
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:40 PM
> 
> why can’t i be the innocent bystander, man?
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 2:41 PM
> 
> First, because I just told you there’s a plan
> 
> Second, because no one’s going to believe you’re innocent
> 
> If it works it’ll get him out of dancing too
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 2:42 PM
> 
> shit he’s back g2g
> 
> cya l8r

* * *

> Happy birthday little chick! I know this is a rough time of year for you, but please come out to the flower dance next week? Jas has been telling me all about braiding flower crowns, and I know she will be sad if you aren’t there to wear one. Besides, finding someone nice to dance with might help the day hurt a little less, don’t you think?
> 
> —Aunt M

* * *

**—Spring 21—**

> Hey Pins—thanks for trying to fix up my dress. Dad would flip if he found out one of my robots messed up the hem. I should probably deactivate that one until I work the bugs out of the chopping function. Wish I could get the dungeon dweller to look at my code, but whatever. He’s been even more annoying than usual, recently
> 
> Anyway! About the other thing—you really shouldn’t worry yourself over whether or not he says yes. Just do it!!!!! You’re adorable and sweet, and how could he say no? Yoba’s rear, I’ll sic a robot on him and dance with you myself if he turns you down, WHICH HE WON’T.
> 
> <3 magnet

* * *

>   
> Flower Queen
> 
> u exited 4 the dance?
> 
> Sun 11:23 AM
> 
> Emily is STILL working on my dress but yes!
> 
> Sun 11:25 AM
> 
> Are u ready?
> 
> Sun 11:25 AM
> 
> yep! don’t think we need 2 practic 2mrw
> 
> Sun 11:28 AM
> 
> What? y not babe? =(
> 
> Sun 11:28 AM
> 
> bc u r allready perfect<3
> 
> Sun 11:30 AM
> 
> But if u want 2… ;)
> 
> Sun 11:30 AM
> 
> ofc!!! xoxoxo
> 
> Sun 11:32 AM

* * *

> _@CoffeeAtMidnight (online)_
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:22 AM
> 
> hey have i ever missed a flower dance?
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 11:35 AM
> 
> …no?
> 
> Well, almost.
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:36 AM
> 
> o, right, ninth grade
> 
> but anyway
> 
> i haven’t missed any since then right
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 11:37 AM
> 
> Why are you asking me this?
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:38 AM
> 
> pen slipped a note in with v’s school stuff asking if i was going
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 11:40 AM
> 
> So?
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:40 AM
> 
> idk it just seems weird
> 
> like why wouldn’t i be there if i’ve been there every other year???
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 11:40 AM
> 
> I dunno, man
> 
> You’re dancing with her, right?
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:44 AM
> 
> i mean if she asks yeah
> 
> it always seems to cheer her up and i hate when she’s all sad
> 
> not many other options tbh
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 11:44 AM
> 
> For her or for you?
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:44 AM
> 
> stfu man
> 
> i don’t see you looking for other options
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 11:45 AM
> 
> Yeah, cause I don’t want to dance with anyone.
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:45 AM
> 
> not even me?
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:48 AM
> 
> ffs seb i’m kidding
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 11:50 AM
> 
> sebby?
> 
> shit g2g, going to be late for work again

* * *

> Dear Leah,
> 
> My sincerest apologies for leaving so quickly on Friday; I was in dire need of some fresh air. I regret passing up the opportunity for a bottle of wine, but I do not foresee being able to oblige your request at this time.
> 
> —Elliott

* * *

> Hi sweetheart! Hope you don't mind me leaving this here for you but I found a suit that should fit you for the Flower Dance!! If it needs altered at all come to 2 Willow Lane any morning before the 24th. Emerald cufflinks would match your eyes but quartz will be waaaaay better for your aura, so that’s what I included!!! (it’s very cleansing and perfect for clearing the mind of negative memories) Looking forward to seeing you dressed to impress and if you aren’t dancing with anyone, keep your favorite bartender in mind ^_^
> 
> —Emily

* * *

> _  
> @Sk8ingonsunshine (online)_
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 7:41 PM
> 
> abs, theres one problem with your plan
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 7:45 PM
> 
> What? No!
> 
> It’s perfect, what are you worrying about?
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 7:48 PM
> 
> have u ever seen seb drink punch?
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 7:48 PM
> 
> …
> 
> Fuck

* * *

**—Spring 23—**

> Leah,
> 
> On second thought, a bottle of wine sounds delightful. I hope you don’t mind if I leave the suit so generously loaned to me here at the cabin, since neither of us wish to dance.
> 
> —Elliott

* * *

> **For** :_____________________________________________________ Date:__________
> 
> **Address** :________________________________________________________________
> 
> **Rx**
> 
> Fine, I will come to the Flower Dance and
> 
> not ‘mope relentlessly’ on one Condition—
> 
> If I can’t work up the Nerve to ask someone else
> 
> Are you amenable to dancing with your Old friend again this year?
> 
> —H

* * *

> I made this flower crown because aunt marnie said you aren’t coming to the dance tomorrow and you should get to have a flower crown even if you don’t come okay? I really really really wanted to dance with you but I guess I will dance with vinny instead even though boys are gross. Maybe we can dance on my birthday because I would like that a whole lot.
> 
> Love your ~~nice~~ ~~niece~~ ~~neice~~ ~~neece~~
> 
> Love jas

* * *

> Group DM: ASSchat
> 
> @littlbee (online)
> 
> @sk8ingonsunshine (online)
> 
> @CoffeeAtMidnight (idle)
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:40 PM
> 
> T-0 days, boys
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 5:41 PM
> 
> how obnoxious are your parents this year, abs?
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:41 PM
> 
> The usual
> 
> no combat boots
> 
> fishnets underneath the dress are Right Out
> 
> absolutely no black jewelry
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 5:42 PM
> 
> ugh rly?
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:42 PM
> 
> Dance with a nice boy
> 
> _@CoffeeAtMidnight (online)_
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 5:43 PM
> 
> Good luck on that one.
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 5:43 PM
> 
> seb you’re nice, shut up
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 5:43 PM
> 
> I’m a terrible influence and not to be trusted
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:43 PM
> 
> Since when do you listen to my father?
> 
> Anyway. Sam you’re dancing with Penny, yeah?
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 5:44 PM
> 
> I guess so?
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 5:45 PM
> 
> We’ve been over this. 
> 
> Limited options in this hellhole 
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:46 PM
> 
> Hey there’s a new one this year.
> 
> I bet mister fancypants with the long hair dances better than either of you anyway, maybe I should ask him
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 5:47 PM
> 
> …
> 
> You wouldn’t.
> 
> You’re the one that said he was old enough to be weird.
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:47 PM
> 
> Oh come on, you know dancing with someone at this stupid festival doesn’t mean anything
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 5:48 PM
> 
> for real, seb
> 
> should I warn him to watch out for his toes?
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 5:48 PM
> 
> …i have not had nearly enough coffee to deal with this kind of bullshit yet, today
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:49 PM
> 
> Dude, did that gelatinous cube that took out your wizard last session roll better than I thought?
> 
> Cause it killed your sense of humor, too
> 
> Lighten up, sebby. You’re stuck with me. I’m not dancing with the old beach bum
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 5:50 PM
> 
> good
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:50 PM
> 
> Yoba, I think you’ve talked to him more than I have, anyway
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 5:50 PM
> 
> ...I’ve only talked to him twice, bee
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 5:52 PM
> 
> wait, twice?
> 
> when?
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:52 PM
> 
> Watch out sam, we’ll be replaced as best friends before jellies at this rate
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 5:53 PM
> 
> :(
> 
> abs
> 
> thats not funny
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 5:53 PM
> 
> For yoba’s sake, guys
> 
> Elliott is not my friend just cause we ended up in the same place at the same time more than once
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:55 PM
> 
> It’s okay to have friends, sebby
> 
> **CoffeeAtMidnight** Today at 5:55 PM
> 
> I don’t need more friends
> 
> I have you guys
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 5:59 PM
> 
> were meeting at 10, right?
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 5:59 PM
> 
> Yeah. Think you can get out of bed that early, sebby?
> 
> _@CoffeeAtMidnight (do not disturb)_
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 6:01 PM
> 
> i’ll be hanging out by the punch
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 6:02 PM
> 
> Samson
> 
> **sk8ingonsunshine** Today at 6:02 PM
> 
> what?
> 
> **littlbee** Today at 6:03 PM
> 
> Hey **@CoffeeAtMidnight** don’t wear your stupid suit there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter this week! The writing mojo has been slow going, but I am hopeful.
> 
> I don't know if I can promise an update next wednesday, but the next chapter WILL be the Flower Dance!
> 
> Comments and encouragement mean the world right now, and I dearly hope you're enjoying this adventure so far.


	10. Spring 24(a) - It's funny what you know and still go on pretending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited (or dreaded) Flower Dance arrives, some awkward assumptions are made, and there's a slight incident involving punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooo 2021! Please be a little better than 2020.
> 
> I'd like to note that I did rework a bit of the previous chapter (mostly in the last section), so if you're coming at this one after a substantial break I recommend re-reading at least ch 9. It's short! The flower dance is NOT short, and is being split into two bits, partially because I'm impatient and want to get something new up and partially so I don't drop something like 8k with no warning. If there are any massive continuity errors do let me know with a kind comment.

Of all the things Sebastian was expecting as he headed to the flower dance, running into Elliott on his way through town was not one of them. But there the writer was, standing alongside the river, half obscured by bushes and jotting something down in a little notebook that he slipped back into his coat pocket as Sebastian slowed to a halt a few steps away.

Elliott’s head snapped up as he turned, a flash of surprise on his face that quickly faded into confusion. “Good morning, Sebastian,” he started, idly combing his hair forward over one shoulder as he looked back towards the river. 

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Sebastian said, fingers of one hand closing tightly around the strap of his backpack, which had been hastily filled with his Flower Dance suit and slung over one shoulder as he ran out the door, late as usual. Abby’s reminder to not wear the suit on the way down to the clearing was unnecessary—he never wore the uncomfortable powder blue monstrosity even five seconds longer than he absolutely had to. The other closed around the half-empty pack of cigarettes in his hoodie pocket.

“Inspiration flees as quickly as it descends,” Elliott sighed, a slight shake of his head accentuating the melancholy look on his face. “As rarely as it appears to me at all, these days. Regardless… you have not interrupted anything, and that was merely my grocery list. There are a few things I have been unable to find in the valley.”

“Like what?” Sebastian asked, curious as to what sort of things the city slicker would be missing from life out here. “Joja’s stock should be the same here as anywhere else.”

With a grimace, Elliott shoved his hands in his pockets, and the slight movement of the fabric strongly suggested he was fidgeting with that lighter he had produced out of nowhere when they met while avoiding the egg festival. “A store for the desperate. I prefer not to shop there. For… several reasons,” he added hesitantly. “One of which being that the state of their produce is simply tragic. I’ve never seen a pomegranate from Jojamart that wasn’t two weeks under-ripe and as hard as a rock crab.”

Sebastian scowled, biting down a comment about Elliott’s fancy-pants fruit preferences and nonchalant use of the word _tragic_ . He was right, though—the only good use for Jojamart produce was throwing it at the cliff face when he was feeling particularly annoyed with the world. “Pierre might have them in the fall. Abby would know. He makes her stock shelves sometimes,” he sighed, taking a peek at his phone for the time. “Ah _shit_ , speaking of Abby… I gotta go.”

Elliott raised an eyebrow as Sebastian turned and pulled his cigarettes out, followed by his own lighter. _Should have just enough time for one on the way—_

“To the flower dance?” 

“Unfortunately,” Sebastian mumbled before lighting up and taking a drag. He started to head for the road to the forest, but movement behind him caught his eye.

“May I, ah, accompany you?” Elliott blinked and cast emerald eyes to one side, swallowing nervously. “I fear I will end up lost in the woods for a fortnight if I try to make my own way there.”

“It’s not that hard to find.”

Elliott’s gaze swung back to Sebastian, lingering on the cigarette in his fingers. “I may be adept with words, but I am as directionally challenged as a... what was the phrase you used? A slime in a blender?”

“…close enough.” Sebastian looked around, but no one else was in sight. The rest of the townsfolk were already cheerfully—or not so cheerfully—gathered at the clearing in the woods. He chewed the inside of his lip, tamping down his curiosity as to why Elliott was so intent on going to the worst festival of the entire year, and offered out his pack of smokes.

The writer hesitated, one corner of his mouth twitching down. 

“Oh. Right. Not the type.” Sebastian was about to stuff them back in his pocket when he finally reached out, just as graceful as last time, and pulled one out. A flash of silver was all he saw of the lighter before it disappeared safely back into Elliott’s jacket and the taller man fell into step beside him as they made for the woods, leaving a matching pair of smoke clouds behind. Flower petals wafted by on the breeze, carrying the scent of sweet pea blossoms past them. Sebastian grimaced, nose wrinkling as the strong scent cut through even the lingering cigarette smoke, and idly wondered how Sam’s allergies were faring, today. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Elliott began after a few minutes of silence. Sebastian stiffened mid-stride, mind already anticipating the worst possible questions. “About these, I mean,” the writer continued, gesturing with the cigarette in his hand. 

It was a pleasant surprise and huge relief that Elliott’s inquiry was something simple. Something he probably knew the answer to. Something to do with the one thing they had in common.

“Pierre—”

“Don’t even ask. He’ll say some bullshit about not wanting the impressionable children in town to get ideas, and Abby’ll be pissed for a week. And Joja… I’m not that desperate,” he said, kicking at a rock in the path as they walked along the river. It bounced into the water with a small _plunk_ , sinking quickly, never to be seen again.

There was a hesitation in Elliott’s stride. “I didn’t mean to imply you were.”

Was _Sam_ that desperate? Sebastian remembered the strained look on his face last time it was Sam’s night to buy pizza at the saloon, and Jodi was always talking about sales and coupons when Sebastian was there at dinner time. Had things gotten worse without Sebastian noticing? He frowned, trying to remember how long Kent had been gone, and the little voice that routinely chided him for not paying better attention to his friends sprung to life from some dark corner of his mind.

_And Yoba, someone would see me, and Sam would give me hell when it got back to him I was buying cigarettes there…_

“I pick them up in the city when I have the chance,” Sebastian said once his mind circled back to the question at hand. Like when he was sent out on time-wasting errands, courtesy of Demetrius. He considered offering to pick up an extra pack next time he went out, but... that was the kind of generosity Sebastian reserved for his friends, and maybe his family. Elliott was neither of those.

“...the city.” There was a sigh and a puff of smoke from next to Sebastian. “Perhaps it’s for the best. My grandmother is sure to be rolling in her grave.”

“You’re old enough to make your own choices, aren’t you?”

Elliott coughed, stumbling again and pinching the bridge of his nose. “While I am sure anyone over thirty seems ancient to you, wisdom has very little to do with age.” The loss of composure faded quickly, and he cast a serious look at Sebastian. “I… would appreciate it if this could stay between us, for the time being,” he said, gesturing with the cigarette in his hand. 

“Whatever. At least people shouldn’t give _you_ shit for it if they find out,” he growled, giving Elliott a sharp look from behind his bangs. “I think Abby is the only person in town that hasn’t told me to quit.” 

It wasn’t quite true. There was at least one other person. Sam had never outright _told_ him to quit, but the way his brow furrowed slightly, blue eyes clouding over with distaste as he stuffed his hands in his pockets every time Sebastian took out a cigarette… it was like he was trying to keep himself from taking it away and grinding it into dust with his ratty sneakers. Sometimes he could see those disappointed eyes watching him even if Sam was nowhere in sight when he lit up.

“Ah. It is a good thing she doesn’t mind.”

Sebastian’s head snapped up, and he nearly dropped his cigarette in confusion. The mental image of Sam shaking his head was quickly replaced by one of Abby stealing a drag now and again—something her father would skin Sebastian for if he ever found out—and he came to a sudden halt as they neared the bridge to the forest clearing. “Wh-what?” 

Elliott went a few more steps before he stopped as well, turning slightly and raising the cigarette to his lips again. “Just… it’s one of those things that puts strain on a relationship.” The scowl on his face was a clear cue, even to Sebastian, that the older man was speaking from experience.

“I—wait. We’re not—I don’t—” Sebastian stammered, catching a glimpse of purple hair far across the clearing and moving his gaze quickly to his shoes. “Look, I dance with Abby at this rotten festival ‘cause her parents won’t let her sit it out, not because… I…”

Sebastian’s cheeks were burning. The lie refused to come out, but that didn’t stop his brain from stumbling over the unspoken words and finding others to spit out in an avalanche of awkwardness. “It’s just tradition, you know? Like…” He looked up at the people milling about the clearing as he scrambled for another example, and could only come up with one—his other best friend, standing near Abby at the punch table with his dance suit already on. “Like how Sam dances with Penny every year. They’re just friends.”

 _Aren’t they?_ The sudden pang of uncertainty that followed made Sebastian’s head spin. He dropped the cigarette and ground the ember out with a bit more force than necessary as he watched Penny approach his friends and Sam lift her off the ground with an enthusiastic hug.

Sun-streaked copper hair appeared in front of him, cutting off Sebastian’s view of the clearing as Elliott stepped closer. “Of course. I should know better than to assume things based on tradition,” he mumbled, green eyes catching Sebastian’s briefly before flitting away. A swirl of smoke blew through the space between them as Elliott’s cigarette butt hit the ground. “I have broken enough of them over the years. My apologies.”

The writer left on those cryptic words, chin tucked to his chest as long legs carried him over the bridge. Sebastian’s throat felt dry as the Calico desert as he rubbed the speck of red into the grass and picked both butts up, shoving them in the carton to throw away later. 

Sam and Abby were both watching when he looked back up, and he couldn’t help but notice the flower pinned on Sam’s jacket as Abby leaned up on her toes to whisper something in his ear. With a reluctant sigh, Sebastian waved and started towards them, wondering what kind of nefarious plotting they had gotten up to _this_ year.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Only fifteen minutes late,” Abby said as Sebastian stalked past the buffet table and tossed his backpack near one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. “Impressive!”

Sam caught his eye-roll over top of Penny’s head, and stepped a little closer to the table, pouring a glass of punch. “So that makes three times, huh? I didn’t know Elliott smoked.”

Sebastian swung back around and shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets where they fidgeted with something. His cigarettes. “He used to, I guess.”

“So he was just holding that for show?” 

“Yoba, just how long were you _watching_ —” The rest of Sebastian’s comeback was interrupted by a dry cough that set Sam’s teeth on edge.

“Careful, Sam!“ Penny warned from one side, just in time to keep him from over-filling the glass in his hand. “Gus should really switch to lemonade for the Flower Dance. This punch would stain anything but Sebastian’s sweatshirt.”

“So what if he smokes? Elliott’s an adult, he can do what he wants,” Abby chided, angling a glare across the clearing at where her father had set up a shop stand. Her mother seemed to have caught Elliott in conversation against his will, given the pained look on the writer’s face. “Right, fellow _adults_?”

Even facing the other way, Sam could just about feel the smug look Sebastian was probably wearing after being backed up by Abby as the two started discussing details of their next Solarion session. Next to him, Penny sighed. 

“Sometimes… you have to be responsible instead of doing what you want,” she said quietly as they watched Leah rescue Elliott from small talk with Caroline and Jodi, who had gone to join them.

“Don’t remind me,” Sam said, thinking of the guitar sitting in its stand next to his bed. He hadn’t found time to practice this morning—his mother had run off on some errand after checking the mail, leaving Sam to get both himself and Vincent ready for the dance. Hopefully no one would notice Vince was wearing mismatched socks. 

And if anyone noticed _his_ mismatched socks… _I’m an adult. I can do what I want._

“But you _do_ want to dance, right?”

“Huh? Yeah, Pen,” Sam said, caught off guard by the flash of Elliott’s copper hair as he laughed at something Leah said. “You’re, like, literally the only person here I want to dance with,” he added, looking down at Penny with a grin.

“R-really?” Her grass-green eyes blinked and then turned away, shoulder brushing Sam’s arm lightly.

Sam’s eyes flicked around the clearing, rounding up the usual dance participants. “Well, yeah. I don’t really know Leah, Emily will dance with anything that moves, I don’t want beaten into a pulp for getting within ten feet of Haley, Maru is out of the question, and you should hear how Seb complains about Abby stepping on his toes every year.”

“Oh. Um. Right.” Penny shrank away again, fussing with the sleeves of her traditional white dress and avoiding Sam’s confused look. “Sam, I—oh! _There’s_ Maru, there’s something I need to ask her. I’ll… I’ll see you when the dance starts, okay?”

“Y-yeah—” Sam started, but Penny was already gone, and he was left nursing both a very full glass of punch and the feeling he had said _something_ wrong.

Sebastian looked quickly down at the ground as Sam joined him and Abby in the shade of one of the trees at the edge of the clearing, and it cranked the unsettled feeling in the pit of Sam’s stomach up another notch.

“Sorry,” Sam sighed, finally taking a sip of punch.

“Huh?” Sebastian’s curious gaze came back for a moment. “For what?”

“All you missed was Sebby whining about having to make a new wizard for Solarion this weekend,” Abby said with a smirk. She eyed the glass in his hand. “Anything good in there? I’ve been banned from punch for the foreseeable future.”

“Gus and the doc have both been tasting it regularly,” Sam pointed out. “Nothing’s going to slip by them, today.”

“Wait, _banned_ from punch?” Sebastian asked.

Abby nodded, twirling purple hair around one finger as she frowned. “Put a real damper on my plans, today.”

Sam tried to hide his relief by taking another drink, watching as Sebastian glanced between them suspiciously.

“I knew there was some kind of nefarious plotting going on,” he muttered. “Is my dancing really awful enough that you’d stoop to the level of punch crimes to get out of it?”

“It’s not the dancing,” Abby said, shoulders tensing a little. 

“So it’s just me.”

“Sebastian,” she hissed, reaching over to cuff him on the arm. “It’s the stupid _expectations_ and Dad going on about being a _proper young lady_ and everyone else in town whispering about whether we’re _dating_ for the rest of the summer.”

It was a familiar argument—Sebastian had a habit of getting into the same arguments year after year, after all—but for some reason, Sam could tell there was something _off_ about it. Something different about Sebastian’s posture. The fact that there was a hesitant silence instead of the usual snappy comeback. 

But Abby kept going, despite the warning signs that were obvious to Sam. “No one ever asks you two if _you’re_ together, and Yoba knows you spend more time with Sam than with _me_.” She stepped closer to Sebastian, who backed up against the tree trunk with a jolt, hesitance turning into something else.

“ _Abigail_.” 

She froze, anger fizzling out at Sebastian’s hissed warning. “Sorry,” Abby muttered, leaving the tree and going to sulk next to the buffet table.

“Wha—why should they? Abs, half the time it’s to practice and half the time you’re there too,” Sam pointed out, slowly realizing that didn’t account for all the time he spent with Sebastian. “And the rest of the time is just… friends hanging out.”

Sebastian shook his head, black curtain of bangs falling in place over one eye. He looked around for his backpack. “I... should go change.” 

“Seb, wait,” Sam whined, searching for somewhere to set his drink so he could make sure Sebastian didn’t just disappear into the forest for the rest of the day with that weird look on his face. “Abby can you hold this for a minute?”

Abby snorted from somewhere behind him. “Banned from punch, remember?”

With an exasperated exhale, Sam turned to the table to set the glass down—and nearly ran into someone else turning his direction at the same time.

“Watch where you’re going, _Samuel_.”

“I—that’s not—” He flinched away from the long blonde hair and scathing expression on Haley’s face, and time felt like it slowed down as he backed into Abby with a startled yelp. The next thing he knew, Sam was on his ass next to the table, with a previously-full punch glass laying on top of him.

“Oh _fuck._ ”

All Sam could see when he cracked his eyes open again was _pink_ . All over his suit. Pink, _everywhere_. His first panicked thought as Abby gave him a hand up and he looked around was that Sebastian was never going to let him live this one down. But Sebastian wasn’t laughing. Sebastian was looking past Sam, and he turned to follow his friend’s worried gaze. _Penny_.

Haley’s scowl deepened as she examined her white skirts. “If even _one drop_ of that got on me, you’re paying for a new dress.”

“Come on, Sissy, that’s not fair,” Emily said, first on the scene and surveying the damage to the clothes with a frown. “It was an accident. I’ve got a stain remover stick right here, but… oh, _Sam_. Did you bring a change of clothes? That needs to be washed out as soon as possible.”

Jodi appeared next, a tight-lipped frown on her face as she grabbed napkins and started dabbing at Sam’s jacket. Caroline was close behind his mother, but her scowl was directed at Abby and the two immediately started arguing.

“Abigail Marie I told you to stay away from the punch!”

“I had nothing to do with—“

“It’s my fault,” Sam said hoarsely, wishing there was still something left in the empty cup to soothe his dry throat. “I should have been looking where I was going. Sorry.”

Caroline’s head snapped up, green braids falling forward over her shoulder as she looked Sam over. “I’m sure Abigail appreciates you trying to cover for her, but I’m not buying that story today.”

“Mom, please, it was…” A curious look came over Abby’s face, and one corner of her mouth twitched up. “Fine, it was all my fault, and I will deal with it like a _responsible young woman_. Come on, Sam, let’s get you home and into something a little less colorful so I can wash those out before they’re stained beyond hope.”

“But… the flower dance…” 

Sam’s heart fell at the waver in Penny’s voice as she came around the table, and he found himself trying to avoid her disappointed eyes. “Sorry, Pen, I didn’t mean… there’s always next year, right?” It was a shitty consolation, and she turned away with a sniff. Maru, who had followed Penny over, shot Sam an annoyed look and then turned to put a comforting hand on Penny’s arm.

“The river’s right there,” Alex suggested with a smirk and a nod, having come over to see what the fuss was about. He tried to hang an arm around Haley’s shoulders, but she shrugged it off and went back to pointing out punch spots so small that even Emily was starting to roll her eyes. “Just dunk him a couple times, it’ll be good as new. Or… as good as second-hand,” he added with a snort.

 _No_ . Sam couldn’t get the word out, frozen in place by the single most terrifying thought anyone could have reminded him of: cold, swift, river water closing over his head. _No, no, no—_

He was surrounded—by people, by water, it didn’t matter. Sam tried to force a deep breath, but they just got shallower instead. _In over my head—I can’t—_

Bits of conversation filtered through the panic, muted and hazy, and Sam stared at his shoes, some calm part of his mind noting that even those had gotten splattered with punch, somehow. “I highly recommend against that. The water is colder than it looks even this late in spring and hypothermia can set in surprisingly quickly. Within minutes, in fact, depending on the water temperature.” 

“Oh come on, Doc, I was joking.”

“This is hardly a laughing matter, Alex. Are you aware of how many people die of hypothermia from easily preventable accidents every year?”

A tall shadow worked its way through the crowd and appeared next to Sam, and something warm tugged at his wrist. “Come on,” the shadow urged, pulling Sam out of his thoughts and into the woods.

  
  


The further they got from the river, the easier Sam could breathe. By the time Sebastian finally stopped and let go of his wrist, which left it uncomfortably cold, he found himself unable to shut up. 

“—all my fault, and if the stains don’t come out I’m going to have to buy a new suit, and probably a dress for Haley, too, so there goes any hope of a new guitar this year, and _Yoba_ , the look on Penny’s face… this is worse than the anchovy incident, Seb, I’ve ruined it all and I can’t go back out there. I—”

“Sammy.” Sebastian said, one hand heavy on Sam’s shoulder. The other shoved something into Sam’s chest, and Sam followed his downcast gaze to the thing wedged between Sam’s punch-pink shirt and Sebastian’s black hoodie. “Here.”

Sebastian’s backpack. Sebastian’s suit. “Sebby, I can’t—”

“Shut up and put it on so you can dance.” Sebastian paused, charcoal eyes flicking up for a heartbeat to meet Sam’s, deep with concern. “You okay?”

Sam knew exactly what was being asked. It was Sebastian who had pulled him out of the river, after all, during that awful excursion to the woods shortly after Sam's family had moved to town. _Hypothermia can set in surprisingly quickly…_ Words failed him again, but the firm grip of Sebastian’s fingers was enough to anchor him to the present. “I've never told anyone about that.”

“Me either. We promised.”

Relief flooded through Sam, and he nodded slowly. “Then... it was just a joke.”

“A stupid joke.” Sebastian let out the breath he had been holding and stepped back, looking Sam over with a raised eyebrow. “It didn’t get in your hair, at least,” he commented quietly.

A tentative smile worked its way onto Sam’s face. “Thank Yoba.” The smile disappeared again as Sebastian turned away, hands stuffed in his pants pockets.

“Put the punched stuff in there and give it to Abby, since she seems to have volunteered to do your laundry today.”

“Hey— wait—”

His best friend stopped mid-stride, turning back to watch Sam with a guarded expression.

“I… I wasn’t really paying attention to which way we came,” Sam admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t leave me out here alone, man.”

“…directionally challenged as a slime in a blender,” muttered Sebastian, just loud enough for Sam to catch the odd turn of phrase. “Fine, but I dunno how long they’ll stall the dance for, so you better change quick.”

It wasn’t every day that Sam found himself stripping to his boxers in the middle of the forest. In fact, for all the trouble the three of them had gotten into over the years, he wasn’t sure it had ever happened before. Even after the river incident he and Sebastian had high-tailed it back to Sam’s house before stripping out of all their soaking wet clothes and wrapping up in blankets, sitting back to back and sharing body heat until the shivering stopped.

“Nice socks.”

There was a snarky comment about not watching him strip on Sam’s lips that died as he turned and found Sebastian’s dark profile leaning against a tree, eyes clearly trained on the ground. One hand rifled absentmindedly through his hair, and Sam was honestly surprised there wasn’t a cigarette to be seen.

Sam hesitated a moment longer and then pulled the clean pair of pants on, searching for something funny to say as he reached for the white dress shirt. He still hadn’t found a snappy comeback by the time he was fully dressed again. The fit was a little off—pants a bit too long, shirt too narrow in the shoulders, jacket a bit tight—but it meant he could keep his promise to Penny, and he was too grateful to Sebastian for that to poke fun at what sounded like a genuine compliment, for once. 

“Mismatched socks are easier to pull off than any of Abby’s get-out-of-dancing plans,” Sam sighed. “I’m decent now, you don’t have to keep hiding over there.” 

Sebastian’s eye-roll was nearly audible as he pushed off of the tree, looking Sam over again in an appraising manner. “It’ll do, I guess. Good thing you’re not any shorter, or you’d have to roll up the pant-legs.” He bent down to pick up Sam’s discarded jacket, pink stains turning the blue a funky lavender color, and eyed the flower pinned to one lapel.

“What? You’re the short one,” Sam argued, straightening up. Sebastian snorted and pulled himself up from slouching as well, meeting Sam’s blue eyes with a smirk. Sam was forced to look up, just the slightest bit. “You’re probably standing on a rock,” he said, matching Sebastian’s smirk with a cocky grin of his own.

“Come on, just admit I’m taller. Hair doesn’t count.” 

“Never give up, never surrender,” Sam said, quoting his father as he watched Sebastian pull the pin and flower off and toss the jacket onto the pile of clothes next to them. “Not even when the enemy could accidentally stab you through the heart,” he added under his breath.

“I’m more worried about stabbing _myself_ because you don’t know how to hold still,” Sebastian muttered. Sam could see his fingers shaking. ”Stupid thing. Why does it have to be flowers, anyway?”

“Shut up, flowers are nice.”

“They make you sneeze.”

“That’s tree pollen,” Sam argued, looking up at the petals blowing through the canopy and suppressing a sniffle. “Screw tradition. Next year I’m pinning a piece of sashimi to your lapel.”

“ _Gross_. And don’t you fucking dare,” Sebastian added sharply, before pulling his hand away to nurse a pricked finger. “…you know this town runs on gossip. People would talk. I… don’t want to deal with that shit. Hold _still_.” 

“You worry too much.” Sam frowned, remembering Abby’s earlier exasperation that no one ever talked about him and Sebastian. Did people talk about him and Penny? “Might help if you could see,” he ventured, reaching up to brush Sebastian’s curtain of bangs out of the way. Sebastian shied away, chewing on his bottom lip.

“I can see just fine. There.” 

Sebastian stepped away quickly, a rush of cool spring air replacing the warmth that Sam hadn’t realized was there until it left, and started walking back towards the clearing. It took Sam a few large steps to catch back up to him, but soon they were elbow to elbow again. It was Sam that finally broke the awkward silence.

“Hey, Seb?”

Sebastian looked up as Sam’s hand found his shoulder with that deer-in-headlights expression that usually meant he’d been falling into some sort of thought-spiral. He shoved the lighter he’d been toying with into his hoodie pocket and tucked his hands into his pants pockets. _Away_ from his cigarettes. “Yeah?”

Sam smiled. He wasn’t sure what had prompted that choice, but he wasn’t going to argue. He just wondered how long it would last.

“Thanks.”

One of Sebastian’s hands came back out, combing through his bangs as a forced smile worked its way onto his face. “Whatever, man. Just… go dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Just. Oof. If you're still here, or here again after this kinda unexpected hiatus... thank you. The fire went out for a bit, but this story has been lurking in my heart even if I haven't been working on it and with 1.5 dropping recently I've had the urge to get back to business. I'm not gonna promise an update schedule, but I'm pleased as punch to be writing again and past (part of) the scene that I've been stalled on for months. Hopefully--fingers crossed--summer will be a little smoother sailing. For me. Not for the boys. Angst ahoy!


End file.
